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page 234 















With British and Braves 

Story of the MS ar of 1812 


By L. K. parks 

1 4 



CINCINNATI : CURTS & JENNINGS 
NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 


SECOND copy, 


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51405 


COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY 
CURTS & JENNINGS 


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JUL 2 7 1898 




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Preface 


Miscellaneous reading with a busy people like 
our own is often simply mental recreation. This de- 
mands works of sufficient interest to exclude all 
thoughts of the cares of life. Unfortunately, it is only 
at rare intervals that a genius has arisen gifted with 
such a charm of manner and grace of diction as to 
make the abstract details of history sufficiently fasci- 
nating to meet this requirement; hence we turn to 
fiction, because, while unreal, it seems more real. 

It is a curious fact that we often weep over the 
suffering and death of imaginary, but rarely of histor- 
ical characters. We shed tears over the death of “Lit- 
tle Nell,” the sufferings of “Uncle Tom;” but not over 
the death of brave General McPherson, or the terrible 
torture of Colonel Crawford. The former not only 
appear more real, but they seem to be acquaintances 
and friends, while the latter are simply officers, in 
whom we have no personal interest. Besides, history 
is too often a bare recital of certain important events, 
which give us no real picture of the period. It has 
been truthfully said, that to get a good conception 
of the reign of J^mes the First, one should read “The 
Fortunes of Nigel,” as well as Hume’s History. 

I am not alone in the opinion that historical truths 
can best be taught by a judicious union of history and 
fiction, provided the truths of history are not distorted 
so as to conform to the exigencies of the’ story. Un- 
3 


4 


Preface 


less I am greatly in error, many of our well-informed, 
and even educated people, have little knowledge of the 
War of 1812, especially of those important events 
which took place in the Northwest, and which have 
had a potent influence upon our national destiny. Yet 
there is no period of our history more replete with 
intrinsic interest, combining at once all the heroism, 
chivalry, and gallantry of the marvelous tales of the 
borderer with the great and glorious achievements 
that have made America what it is to-day. 

Suppose, in addition to this intrinsic interest, you 
had a real or imaginary friend, who had been a par- 
ticipant in these events; one who fought British and 
Indians beneath the great oaks at Maguaga; who, 
after Hull’s inglorious surrender, escaped, under cover 
of darkness, fog, and mist, down the deep and rapid 
river; who was in the terrible conflict at Frenchtown; 
who, with a few comrades disguised as painted sav- 
sages, fled through the snow of a trackless forest; 
who, by his heroic courage, saved the day at Fort 
Meigs; who was with the gallant Croghan at Fort 
Stephenson, and with Commodore Perry at Put-in- 
Bay; who encountered savage men and wild beasts 
in the woods; who struggled with Split-Log and the 
great Tecumseh; who risked his life to rescue the girl 
he loved from^ her savage captors. If with such a 
friend, or friends, you could visit these scenes, and see 
not only these events as they actually occurred, but 
other scenes of that period, which would give you a 
clear conception of the time, — how much greater 
would be your interest and the benefit you would 
derive! 


Preface 


5 


This has been my object in writing out the story told 
by Colonel Northcott. In company with his imagi- 
nary friends, he not only sees the battles and conflicts 
of history, but becomes interested in their experiences, 
both in love and war. How well the writer has suc- 
ceeded, he must leave to the judgment of the charitable 
and kindly reader; but he believes that this narrative 
can not fail to be both interesting and instructive, for 
the picture which he has attempted to reproduce is 
of itself so fascinating and instructive that it can not 
fail to be both beneficial and attractive, even if the 
work of the artist is defective. Of the important events 
of this period, no self-respecting and intelligent Ameri- 
can should remain in ignorance. 

I perhaps ought to say, before closing, that I have 
found a greater conflict of authority in regard to many 
of the details pertaining to events which I have de- 
scribed than one would naturally expect in reference 
to a time so little removed from the present. There 
is, however, but little dispute in regard to the main and 
most important features of that struggle, and I have 
assiduously endeavored to be accurate in the relation 
of historical facts, and have been to no little pains 
to verify, as far as possible, that part of my narrative 
which is legendary; and wherever I have felt doubtful 
lest the reader might confound imaginary with real 
events, I have added explanatory notes, in order that 
this narrative might nowhere be misleading. 

L. K. p. 





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Contents 


CHAPTER I 

A Party at Hotel Victory — Colonel Northcott, the Story- 
teller — Then and Now — The Gathering at John 
Wright’s — The News of the Battle of Tippecanoe — 

The Circle Hunt — Struggle with the Bear — A Bitter 
Quarrel — A Frontier Supper — Miss Mixture, a Dan- 
gerous Compound _______ 13 


CHAPTER H 

Declaration of War — Conflicting Opinions and Divided 
Sentiments — Dieutenant Dinsmore — A Digression in 
which the Colonel moralizes — Hull’s March to De- 
troit — Invasion of Canada — Fatal Delays — Retreat — 
Battle of Maguaga — Desperate Duel in the Woods — 
Dinsmore and Hastings wounded — Indian Courage — 
Hull Ignominiously Surrenders — Bitter Feeling 
among Officers and Men — Dinsmore and Hentzler 
escape - -- -- 41 


CHAPTER HI 

Hentzler and his Mother — Ruth and Henry Wright visit 
Dinsmore — John Wright and his Wife talk of the 
War — Mrs. Wright’s Motherly Feelings — She decides 
to let Henry become an Indian Scout, and Ruth a 
Nurse — The Effect of Hull’s Surrender — British and 
Indians driven from Fort Wayne — Indian Villages de- 
stroyed — Fort Defiance taken — Heroic Defense of 
Fort Harrison - 


7 


57 


8 


Contents 


CHAPTER IV 

Ruth goes to Cleveland as a Nurse — A True Woman in 
the Sick-room — Henry and Charlotte Wright — Henry 
leaves Home to become an Indian Scout — His 
Father’s Parting Advice — Henry arrives at Fort Ste- 
phenson — General Tupper’s Attack upon the Rapids of 
Maumee — The Military Skill and Bravery of the In- 
dian Chief Split-Log — Tupper retreats for Lack of 
Provisions — Winchester ordered to Maumee — Dins- 
more’s Parting from Ruth _ _ _ - - 72 

CHAPTER V 

Dinsmore and Wright join Winchester’s Army as Scouts — 
Colonel Lewis marches to Frenchtown — A Bitter 
Conflict — Americans Victorious — Winchester re-en- 
forces Colonel Lewis — The Unheeded Warning — An 
Early Morning Attack — Dreadful Slaughter — Ameri- 
cans Surrender — The Fearful Disguise of the Scouts — 
They Escape — Massacre of Prisoners — Dreadful Sights 
and Scenes — Results — March through the Woods — 
Dinsmore tenders his Services to General Harri- 
son 84 


CHAPTER VI 

Captain Dinsmore visits Cleveland — His Bitter Disap- 
pointment — Miss Mixture’s Deceit — A Cleveland Ho- 
tel in the First of the Century — Dinsmore loses 
Faith in Womankind — Ruth and Miss Mixture — Two 
Sad Hearts — Henry Wright visits his Home and sees 
Charlotte — Charlotte’s Terrible Dream — Dinsmore 
returns to Kentucky — His Mother and Sister - - 102 

CHAPTER VH 

Fort Meigs — General Harrison goes to Cincinnati — 
Colonel Leftwick’s Incompetency — The Scout sur- 
rounded by Wolves — General Proctor’s Army lands 
at Fort Miami — Narrow Escape from the Indians — 


Contents 


9 


A Dreadful Storm — Visit from a Panther — Siege of 
Fort Meigs — Midnight News — Cause of Mysterious 
Bullets discovered — Colonel Dudley destroys Proc- 
tor’s Batteries — Disobedience of Orders — Colonel 
Dudley defeated and slain. Tecumseh’s Humanity — 
Colonel Clay’s Attack upon the Indians — Johnson 
Dinsmore’s Heroic Ride — Painted Savages — Split- 
Dog’s Shot — Dinsmore Severely Wounded — ^Americans 
Victorious — Proctor’s Retreat ----- 120 

CHAPTER VHI 

Ruth arrives at Fort Meigs — A Base Wretch justly pun- 
ished — Hettiebelle Dinsmore finds her Wounded 
Brother — A Mystery explained — Ruth Wright and 
Captain Dinsmore again meet — Dove, Honor, and 
Courage triumph over Deception and Deceit — The 
Howling of the Wolves — Bad Omen - - - - 146 

CHAPTER IX 

Proctor and Tecumseh again determine to attack Fort 
Meigs — Tecumseh’s Shrewd Stratagem — Henry 
Wright’s Skill and Courage, and General Clay’s Firm- 
ness, save the Fort — Ruth Wright and Hettiebelle 
Dinsmore Alike and yet Unlike — Hettiebelle’s Inter- 
est in Henry Wright — Proctor and Tecumseh Re- 
treat — Fort Stephenson - - - - - -170 

CHAPTER X 

The Scouts and Militiamen at Catawba Island — Indians 
hunting Deer — The British Fleet discovered — The 
British land at Fort Stephenson — The Glorious De- 
fense of Fort Stephenson — Proctor’s Ignominious 
Flight — Ruth Wright, Captain and Hettiebelle Dins- 
more arrive at Fort Stephenson — The Wounded Ca- 
nadian Officer — A Ride through the Woods — General 
Harrison and Commodore Perry determine to risk 
a Naval Engagement - - - - - - -188 


lO 


Contents 


CHAPTER XI 

Naval Supremecy of England — An Ingenious and Success- 
ful Method of floating Ships over a Sandbar — Ruth 
Wright and Captain Dinsmore at the Home of John 
Wright — A Little Love — A Short Chapter - - - 202 

CHAPTER XII 

A Frontier Settlement after an Indian Raid — Charlotte 
Wright and Captain Dinsmore seized by the Indi- 
ans — The Scout, Peter Navarre — The Pursuit — Ar- 
rangements for meeting upon the Peninsula — Henry 
Wright swims the Sandusky River in pursuit of the 
Savages — Savages arrive with their Prisoners at what 
is now called Lakeside — Jim Jenks, the Deserter — 
Lieutenant Hastings — The Two Chiefs, Ogontz and 
Big Cat — The Interview at the Camp-fire — A Dread- 
ful Alternative — Henry Wright makes his Presence 
known — Hastings and Charlotte _ _ _ _ 209 

CHAPTER XHI 

The Indian Council — Big Cat advises Torture and War — 

The Persuasive Eloquence of the Great Chief Ogontz — 
Whisky and Jealousy produce a Tragedy — The Indian 
Council unexpectedly broken up — The Trial of 
Ogontz — He is acquitted — The Prisoners escape — An 
Exciting Race — The Mysterious Disappearance — 
Henry and Charlotte Wright and Captain Dinsmore 
again become Indian Captives - - _ _ - 234 

CHAPTER XIV 

September 10, 1813— Enemy in Sight— The Scene before 
the Battle — The Fleets slowly approach Each Other — 
Awful Slaughter upon the Flagship Lawrence — Perry 
transferred to the Brig Niagara— The Wind changes— 

The Enemy’s Line broken— Dreadful Broadsides— 
Apparent Defeat turned into Complete American Vic- 


Contents 


II 


tory — The Entire Nation Wild with Joy — A Dash for 
Liberty — A Cavern — Savage Preparations for Dins- 
more’s Torture — Love and Courage wins Another Vic- 
tory — Dinsmore saved — Hastings and Henry Wright 
wounded — The Indians Flee - _ _ _ _ 252 

CHAPTER XV 

After the Battle — A Discovery — The Deserter Jenks is 
captured — The Solemn and Impressive Burial of the 
Dead Officers — Five Thousand Men assemble at Put-in- 
Bay — Tecumseh’s Speech to Proctor — Harrison in- 
vades Canada — Complete American Victory at the 
River Thames — Proctor flees — The Brave Tecumseh 
Slain — Terrible Suspense — Ruth, Hettiebelle, and 
Charlotte’s Parents go to Put-in-Bay — Lieutenant 
Hastings makes to Charlotte a Declaration of Love — 

A Happy Solution — Courage wins in Love as well as 
War — Jenks meets a Fate which he richly deserves — 
Miss Mixture, the Deceiver, deceived — A Happy 
Triple Wedding — Farewell 275 


Illustrations 

PAGE 

The Indian Council Frontispiece 

Farmer John Wright and his Wife - - - 6o 

Gen. Wieeiam H. Harrison 8i 

The Scouts Surprised by a Panther - - _ 129 

’Major George Croghan ------ 193 

Ruth Wright and Lieut. Dinsmore - - - - 204 

Commodore Oeiver H. Perry 256 

Tecumseh 280 

12 


% 


Chapter I 

It was a delightful August evening in the year 
1897. Scattered here and there in groups, or prom- 
enading along the grand veranda that fronts Hotel 
Victory, at Put-in-Bay, were some three or four hun- 
dred guests. Most of the young people were in full 
evening dress, and among them were a number of 
naval cadets belonging to the Ohio Reserve. The 
young ladies were all on the qui vive; for the young 
and aristocratic Clevelanders were an exceptionally 
fine-looking body of men in their naval uniforms — 
white as snow, except the big brass buttons and black 
band and gilt anchor on their natty caps. 

Near the middle of the veranda, and apparently 
noticing no one, sat a gentleman, slowly smoking a 
fragrant cigar. A young lady from St. Louis, leaning 
on the arm of a naval officer, in passing remarked to 
her escort : ‘T wonder who that elderly gentleman is ; 
he has such a distinguished look.^^ 

“That is Colonel Northcott,” replied the young offi- 
cer. “He is, I believe, a Southerner by birth. He is a 
model gentleman of the 'old-school,’ which, I am sorry 
to say, is fast disappearing. We Americans, by our con- 
stant travel have acquired — I might almost say we ape 
— a certain off-hand frankness and heartiness of man- 
ner in our intercourse with strangers, which, at times, 
is refreshing and in pleasing contrast to the stately for- 
mality of the Europeans, and especially the English. 
13 


14 


With British and Braves 


Yet our frankness often descends, I fear, to freshness 
or impudence, and our heartiness to rudeness. For 
my part, there is a charm about some of those elegant, 
stately gentlemen of the ‘old-school’ that I very much 
admire. I understand his father was not only an 
officer in the War of 1812, but was at the battle of 
Lake Erie, or Perry’s Victory. He has spent most of 
his summers from boyhood along the shore of Lake 
Erie, and is said to know more about the Indians, 
their habits and characteristics, and the real facts con- 
nected with the battles fought in the Northwest during 
the War of 1812, than almost any other man now 
living.” 

Soon afterwards, a gentleman from Cincinnati no- 
ticed the colonel, and recognizing in him an old ac- 
quaintance, extended his hand, and said : 

“How do you do. Colonel. I am very glad to see 
you. You have not been here before this season, 
have you?” 

“No,” replied the colonel. “The last time I was here 
was upon the occasion of the Inter-Lake Yacht Regatta 
Party. On that occasion, one of the Canadian yacht- 
clubs won an elegant silver loving-cup, and when the 
cup was presented to the commander of the successful 
Canadian boat, the gentleman making the presenta- 
tion spoke of the fact that this hotel was named in 
honor of the great naval victory which took place in 
sight of this house, and then he expressed the hope 
that all contests in the future between the United 
States and her Canadian cousins would be like the 
present one — a contest of friendly rivalry, ending, not 
in blood, but in social friendship. 


War of 1812 


15 


“To-night there are a hundred fine-looking naval 
cadets here with all the insignia of war, and the girls 
seem to be more attracted by the cadets than they 
were by the yacht men. War seems yet to charm 
more than peace. 

“As I have been looking into this enchanting forest 
park, lighted by electricity and beautified by an elec- 
tric fountain, my mind has been running back over 
the past. Young men, guided by hope and spurred on 
by expectation, love to look with longing eyes into 
the future; but men who, like myself, have reached 
nearly fourscore years, live in the past, so rich and full 
of great events. Only eighty-four years since, at the 
time of the battle on Lake Erie, this vast country, 
which we so proudly call our own, was for the most 
part a wilderness inhabited by savage beasts and wild 
men, untutored except by the Great Spirit, the God 
of nature. Chicago, that great city of wealth and 
poverty, glory and infamy, charity and corruption, 
public spirit and anarchy, was yet unborn. Where 
sky-piercing blocks now greet the sight, the red man 
danced around his camp-fires, and instead of the rattle 
of machinery, the whistle of engines, and the tramp 
of thousands of busy feet, was heard the plaintive cry 
of the loon, the dismal howl of the wolf, and the wild 
scream of the panther. Cleveland was a little log-hut 
hamlet; Detroit, an insignificant French village; To- 
ledo was still for years to come to be the camping- 
ground of the Indians, and the home of the musk- 
rat and forest wolf. 

“As a boy I have seen the Indian camp-fires redden 
the shores of this lake, and often heard, in the dark 


1 6 With British and Braves 

and tangled forests between Sandusky Bay and the 
Maumee River, the howl of wolves and the cry of the 
panther. Look through the trees between here and 
the lake, run your eye along the walk which leads to 
that rustic bridge, illuminated by so many electric 
lights, and then let your eye run around under the 
branches of the trees, and you see the hollow or de- 
pression before us is a natural amphitheater. There, 
eighty-four years since, the Ottawas kindled for the 
last time, on the shores of this lake, the fires of torture 
around the limbs of a white man, and there took place 
an event in one of the prettiest romances of the War 
of 1812, which, while cruel and bloody, assuaged the 
feeling of hostile bitterness, and showed that war, 
as well as peace, can develop and bring forth the 
highest and noblest attributes of the soul.’^ 

“Colonel,’’ replied, or rather interrupted the Cin- 
cinnatian, “I wish you would tell us about the War 
of 1812. Tell us the story which you have just men- 
tioned.” 

Several, who were listening to the colonel’s re- 
marks, joined in a chorus of voices requesting the 
story. After some little parleying (for story-tellers, 
as well as musicians, often like to be coaxed), it was 
agreed that the next afternoon the colonel should 
begin his story of the War of 1812 in the North- 
west. This he accordingly did, continuing it from 
day to day as he had opportunity, and his hearers 
were able to come together on the veranda to listen 
to it. There was a goodly group of listeners, young, 
old, and middle-aged, daily assembled, and they 


War of 1812 


17 


listened with intense interest as he told the story of 
the war, as follows : 

In the: ye:ar 1812 there lived in Cuyahoga 
County, not far from where now stands the city of 
Cleveland, two sturdy New England brothers, named 
John and Charles Wright. They were among the 
first settlers in Cuyahoga County outside of Cleve- 
land. In fact, they had built their log houses in the 
forest on the banks of the Cuyahoga River, in the 
year 1799, or only three years after the first settle- 
ment in Cleveland. 

It was the 6th of December. Though not very 
cold, the ground was just whitened by a thin cover- 
ing of snow which had fallen during the day. It had 
been determined some time previous to have a circle 
hunt on the day following, and word had been sent 
through the settlements for many miles around, and 
also to the village of Cleveland, to that effect. The 
different townships having selected their captains, 
they met for final arrangements at the home of John 
Wright. 

John Wright’s family consisted, besides himself 
and wife, of two children — an unusually small family 
for those times. Henry was about twenty-one, a big, 
strong, good-natured fellow, but with “lots of grit,” as 
the boys said. He was known as being the best shot, 
the fastest runner, and strongest swimmer in the 
settlement. He was, in many respects, a typical fron- 
tiersman; tall and spare, weighing about one hun- 
dred and sixty pounds, but without any surplus flesh. 


2 


1 8 With British and Braves 

all bone and muscle; one of those characters that 
needed some excitement or great incentive fully 
to draw out the latent powers of body and mind. 
He had large eyes that ordinarily seemed a sort of 
dreamy blue, but when excited were a piercing gray. 

Ruth was about eighteen, a sweet, shy girl, with 
large dark-blue eyes, always the first to be called 
upon when any one was hurt or sick. She liked to 
roam over the fields and through the forests with her 
brother, and she often said to her mother (and more 
often to herself), “If I were a boy I would be a hunter 
or an Indian fighter.” 

Besides the captains of the hunt, some of the neigh- 
bors had dropped in to talk over the next day’s sport, 
and exchange ideas in regards to the stormy events 
of the time. The question of war with England was 
the all-absorbing topic ; for, added to the usual interest 
that we all take in war — ^which may not only cause the 
weal or woe of our country, but our families and our 
friends — at this time on the Western frontier, a war 
with England would be a signal for an Indian out- 
break, with all its attendant horrors. 

There were also present Mrs. Charles Wright 
and her daughter Charlotte. Charlotte was about 
Ruth’s age. 

The shades of evening were beginning to fall; a 
few flakes of light snow were dropping slowly to the 
already whitened earth. John Wright and his visitors 
were seated by the great open fireplace, upon which 
a big log had just been thrown, making a bright, 
cheerful flame, with hundreds of sparks flying up into 
the mouth of the great chimney. 


War of 1812 


19 


“Well, Mr. A.,” said John Wright, addressing one 
of his visitors, “what news did you hear in Cleveland 
yesterday?” 

“Nothing special,” was the reply. “The mail from 
the East has not come in this week. It has been de- 
layed on account of bad and heavy roads. Nor has 
anything been heard from General Harrison. People 
are beginning to fear that Tecumseh and his brother, 
‘the Prophet,’ have succeeded in getting Harrison into 
a trap. I tell you, if Harrison falls into the hands of 
that old fox, Tecumseh, there will not be a man left 
to tell the tale, and we will see dreadful times in Ohio. 
The redskins may not come as far east as this, but I 
tell you, John, that if Harrison is defeated, many a 
poor fellow’s scalp will be hung up in their tents this 
winter. I shudder when I think of the poor women 
and children that will suffer in captivity worse than 
death if, added to Harrison’s defeat, the company of 
infidel French sympathizers get our country into a 
war with Great Britain.” 

“Yes,” replied John, “the last we heard from 
Harrison was over a month ago. He was at Tippe- 
canoe, and was every day expecting to fight with 
Tecumseh; but that crafty chief was pretending he 
did not want to fight. I tell you, Tecumseh is the 
smartest Indian that ever wore a red skin, and I 
begin to worry about Harrison. It seems to me it 
is time that we heard something from him and his 
men. Sometimes I am afraid that Harrison is not 
quite a match for Tecumseh, who is as brave as Harri- 
son himself. But there comes my son Henry. I 
wonder who that is with him.” 


20 


With British and Braves 


Just then there appeared, riding into the clearing 
that surrounded the house, two young men — one was 
Henry Wright, the other a stranger. The stranger 
rode his horse as though he were one of the fabled 
centaurs, a part of the horse itself. As he jumped 
lightly to the ground, with a sort of military air, both 
of the girls excitedly asked, “Who can he be?” In 
the settlements, before the war, to see a stranger, and 
especially a fine-looking young man in uniform, was 
an unusual occurrence. The young men led their 
horses into the log barn, and then bent their way 
towards the house. Mr. Wright opened the door to 
greet his son and the stranger. “Father,” said Henry, 
“this is Sergeant Dinsmore. He has just come from 
Tippecanoe.” This statement brought every one to 
the door, eager to learn the fate of Harrison and his 
men. 

After a general introduction and a hearty wel- 
come, it was very soon learned that General Harrison, 
on the 7th of November, met the large Indian force 
under command of the great warrior, Tecum- 
seh, and, after a severe conflict, had gained a com- 
plete victory, and Sergeant Dinsmore had been sent 
to Cleveland with dispatches to inform the Govern- 
ment. He was going to remain in Cleveland for a 
few days, and then proceed to his home in Kentucky. 
He accidentally met Henry, and learning of the pro- 
posed hunt, he had expressed a desire to take part in 
it. With the unreserved hospitality of that day, 
Henry had immediately invited Dinsmore to go home 
with him that night, so as to be ready for the hunt 
early the next morning. 


War of 1812 


21 


During the evening, Dinsmore, at the request of his 
host, recounted the incidents and results in detail of the 
battle of Tippecanoe, and described his long journey 
through the dense and almost unbroken forest be- 
tween Tippecanoe and Cleveland ; how at night he 
often heard the wolves howling in the woods around 
him; how one day the Indians followed him for over 
twenty miles, and then, realizing that he was aware of 
their chase, they gave it up. For while the Indian is 
accustomed to the woods, and has considerable en- 
durance, and is very fleet for a short race, yet for a 
long, stern chase, it is useless for him to try to over- 
take a white hunter or soldier. Charlotte occasion- 
ally, along with the others, asked questions concern- 
ing the matters Dinsmore was describing. Ruth was 
a silent listener, much of the time, with her eyes upon 
the floor. When she did raise them and look at Dins- 
more, it was only for a moment. 

Finally, the neighbors and hunters departed, and 
soon afterwards Mr. Wright said: 

^‘The hunters will begin to assemble early, and we 
must be ready to start at daylight.” 

Mr. Wright then read a chapter from the Holy 
Scriptures, and offered up a fervent prayer for the 
welfare of his country, his guests, and his family. 
Then all retired. 

Ruth and Charlotte slept together. Hardly had 
Charlotte reached the bed before she fell asleep; not 
so with Ruth. She had often read of brave soldiers. 
She had dreamed of plumed knights and heroes; but 
she had never before seen a soldier, and now, in the 
same house, sleeping under the same roof, was not 


22 


With British and Braves 


only a real soldier, but a hero — one who, with Harri- 
son, had helped, by his bravery and might, to defeat the 
most dreaded chief in all the land. He, defended only 
by his own watchfulness and strength, had traversed 
miles and miles of trackless forest, surrounded by wild 
beasts and wild men. Besides, while not exactly hand- 
some, Dinsmore was a manly man. Young girls often 
dote upon pretty men — men with curly locks, exquisite 
mustaches, rosy cheeks, and soft white hands; but 
they love stalwart, forcible, masculine men. It is no 
wonder, then, that Ruth dreamed that night, and many 
of her dreams were while she was only partially 
asleep. 

The next morning, before daybreak, a breakfast 
of baked potatoes, milk-rising bread, salt pork, milk, 
weak coffee, and pancakes sweetened with real maple 
syrup, was hastily eaten; as before breakfast was 
ready the neighbors began to assemble, Ruth having, 
as she said, overslept — she did not say she had over- 
dreamed. 

The hunting party consisted of some sixty, of whom 
about one-half assembled at John Wright’s; the other 
half, according to previous arrangement, meeting at 
a place about four miles distant. Quite a number of 
those who met at Wright’s were from Cleveland, and 
among them was a young Canadian by the name of 
Frank Hastings. He, like Dinsmore, had been in 
Cleveland on business, and, hearing of the hunt, had 
expressed a desire to join the party, and had been, 
as was the custom in those days, invited to “go along.” 
He was greeted cordially even by those who would, 
aside, remark to their friends and acquaintances : 


War of 1812 


23 


“What is that Canadian doing here? I wonder if he 
is trying to learn how well we can shoot.” 

Just as the party were ready to start, Mrs. Wright, 
Ruth, and Charlotte came to the door and wished the 
hunters good luck and safe return, when, to the sur- 
prise of Mrs. Wright and Ruth, Hastings stepped up 
to Charlotte, and they greeted each other with the 
cordiality of old and warm friends. Henry noticed 
this cordial greeting, and for some reason — he could 
not say why — it vexed him. He remarked to one of his 
acquaintances : “That Canadian is a forward fellow. 
He may be all right, but for my part I would rather 
these Canadians would keep on their side of the water 
just now.” 

It had been decided to surround a large piece of 
land very thickly overgrown with tall grasses, bushes, 
and branching trees. This piece of land was the 
favorite resort of wild animals. It was irregular in 
shape, about a mile and one half long, and about half 
as wide. According to the previously-arranged plan, 
the two hunting parties started in the woods about 
three miles apart, and then slowly moved towards 
each other, those on the ends of each advancing line 
going at first much faster than those in the center, 
so that soon a complete circle was formed. Each 
party had a captain and two lieutenants, the captain 
being in the center, and the lieutenants at either ex- 
tremity of the line. The six officers, besides their 
guns, carried horns, by means of which they gave their 
brief commands. As soon as the ends of the lines met, 
and the circle was complete, the signal was passed 
around to “close in.” Many of the party, especially 


24 


With British and Braves 


the large boys, had with them dogs, but they were 
all kept securely in hand. No sooner was the order 
given to “close in” than the whole party, keeping up 
a continual shouting, kept pressing in towards the cen- 
ter, driving before them all the game. When the circle 
had been contracted until it was less than a mile in 
circumference, the senior captain blew upon a conch- 
shell a loud blast, that could be heard by every one. 
The hunters then selected stations where the woods 
were the clearest from underbrush and their sight the 
least obstructed. These stations were from four to 
five rods apart, and the cry went around the whole 
circle, “Here I am, fire towards the center.” This 
precaution was taken, as these so-called “circle hunts” 
often resulted in severe and sometimes fatal accidents, 
caused by the hunters firing at game and shooting each 
other. By this means each one was made acquainted 
with the exact location of his nearest companion, at 
the same time getting a final word of caution. As 
soon as this watchword had passed around the circle, 
the senior captain blew a signal for the charge, and 
the loosened dogs sprang into the inclosure. There 
is nothing short of a real charge in battle that so stirs 
the blood, tingles the veins, and causes the heart to 
throb and beat with excitement and expectancy as a 
charge in a circle hunt. Fifty to seventy-five dogs, 
of all sizes and kinds, are baying, barking, yelling, 
springing through the bushes, around the trees, over 
the logs ; the branches snap, the twigs bend, the noise 
grows louder every moment, as more and more of the 
dogs catch sight of the game; then, as the frightened 
animals attempt to break out, the bang and cracking 


War of 1812 


25 


of the guns is added to the noise of the dogs. And 
all this excitement is intensified by the exhilarating 
sight of so much large game. Deer bound through 
the woods beside frightened wolves, who have lost 
their appetite; turkeys fly through the air, and foxes 
run through the bushes; but escape is almost impos- 
sible. A fox or wolf drops here, a deer falls there, 
or a turkey plunges to the ground, or a wounded 
buck springs into the air, until gradually the noise 
of the dogs becomes less animated, the firing less 
frequent, and then ceases altogether. The conch- shell 
sounds again. The hunt is over. It was found, this 
day, when the game was gathered together, that the 
hunters had been very successful. Thirty-five deer, 
six wolves, two bears, a large number of wild turkeys, 
and a few foxes and rabbits had been killed, and no 
one had been shot or severely injured. 

But one very unusual event had taken place. On 
one side of Henry Wright was a small, marshy 
stream, fringed by a thick and almost impassable 
growth of bushes. On the other side, and about five 
rods distant, was Hastings ; next to Hastings was 
Dinsmore. Henry thought himself especially fortu- 
nate in being next to the stream, for there was always 
a generous rivalry among the hunters as to which 
one would shoot the most and largest game, and 
Henry thought that the game would be very likely 
to attempt to break out of the circle by following the 
stream. 

It was a moment of great excitement. Big and 
little game were expected to appear at any moment. 
Henry had awaited in suppressed and expectant ex- 


26 


With British and Braves 


citement but a few moments when a fine antlered buck 
came bounding towards him, and attempted to cross 
the open space between him and the bush-fringed 
stream, but a sharp report, followed by a spring into 
the air, and then the fall of the animal showed that 
Henry’s gun, as usual, had done its bidding. He com- 
m.enced to reload with all possible haste — there were 
no cartridges and breech-loaders in those days. He 
had pulled out his powder-horn, and was in the act of 
pouring a charge into his gun, when he heard a snap- 
ping of the bushes in the thicket towards the center 
of the circle. This only hastened his efforts to reload 
before the game would have time to escape. He had 
just rammed down his powder, and was about to send 
the bullet after it, and in a moment more would have 
been ready again, when the bending of the bushes 
and the snapping of the twigs directly in front of him 
caused him to look up. To his surprise and con- 
sternation he saw directly before him an unusually 
large bear. It had not as yet been very cold, and the 
bears were still out. Henry’s first impulse was to club 
the bear with his gun; but fear of spoiling it (his most 
valuable earthly possession) caused him to spring with 
all possible haste towards a large swamp-elm that grew 
near by. Henry knew if he could reach the tree he 
could run around it faster than the bear, which is a 
clumsy animal. In his haste he stepped upon a half- 
rotten limb, that broke beneath his weight and tripped 
him, so that he stumbled and fell almost under the 
bear. He quickly sprang to his feet, only to be 
grasped in the arms of the wild beast. Too late to 
escape, he drew a large hunting-knife from his belt, 


War of 1812 


27 


and made a plunge at the animal’s heart; but, unfortu- 
nately, the bear was too quick for him, and by a stroke 
of his paw knocked the knife out of Henry’s hand, 
and, enfolding the weaponless hunter in his huge arms, 
both rolled to the ground. A fearful life-and-death 
struggle then ensued between the combatants. One 
ruled by unvarying instinct, the other guided by reason 
and the varying vicissitudes of the conflict; the bear 
depended wholly upon squeezing his opponent to 
death, while the man, keeping the instinct of the bear 
ever in mind, endeavored to present his body at all 
times in such a position as best to enable him to with- 
stand the beast’s terrible hug, until his grasp could be 
loosened. Henry was not only quick and athletic, but 
a man of big bones and great endurance. The woods 
in the immediate vicinity of their first encounter was 
comparatively free from underbrush ; but in their strug- 
gles they rolled away from this spot, and fortunately 
in among some bushes, and the bear got his huge 
paws around the bushes as well as the man, and this, 
to some extent, weakened the force of his terrible 
embrace. At first it was impossible for Henry to call 
for help so tightly was he held ; but at length he man- 
aged to call for assistance.* Hastings, who, as we 
have seen, was nearest him, heard the call, but did not 
respond; for he was ignorant of the methods of this 
kind of hunting, and as the cry was not very distinct, 
he thought that it was one of the hunting signals 
agreed upon. On the other side of Henry, as we have 


*A great uncle of the writer was one of the captains of the hunt 
here described. See Howe’s Historical Collections, Ohio, for similar 
hunts and experiences. 


28 


With British and Braves 


seen, was the stream lined with thick and almost im- 
passable bushes, so that it was impossible for the 
hunter in that direction to reach Henry without con- 
siderable delay; and, as it happened, just as Henry 
uttered his second call for help Hastings had shot a 
deer, which was closely followed by yelping hounds, 
which prevented him from hearing this call for help. 
Thus no assistance came to Henry in his lonely and 
desperate struggle for life. 

During this nearly fatal delay Henry several times 
thought the bear’s terrible hugs would crush him; 
but by choking the animal with all the strength born 
of terror, he would compel him to release his grip 
for a moment, in order to knock Henry’s hands from 
his throat. This would always give Henry another 
chance to catch his breath and cry for assistance. For 
some time Henry kept up the unequal struggle, mo- 
mentarily expecting assistance that did not come until 
it seemed to him that he was being cruelly deserted 
and left to a terrible fate; but at length, to his great 
relief, he saw Hastings and Dinsmore rapidly ap- 
proaching, and nearly at the same time the snapping of 
the twigs and bushes bordering the stream announced 
the approach of another hunter from that direction. 
The bear, seeing so many new enemies approaching, 
loosened his hold upon Henry, and started to escape 
by flight. He had, however, proceeded but a short 
distance before Hastings raised his gun and fired, at 
the same instant that Dinsmore also fired, and the 
bear dropped dead. 

Just as Henry had cried out for help the second 
time, Hastings fired at a large buck. This buck, fol- 


War of 1812 


29 


lowed by the dogs, was attempting to pass between 
Hastings and Dinsmore, and, as often happens in such 
cases, both hunters fired at almost the same moment, 
when the deer appeared in sight. The wounded animal 
made several frantic plunges, and both hunters, fearing 
that he was only wounded, rushed forward so as to 
make sure of their game; but the wounded buck turned 
for a moment, and defiantly faced his enemies, while 
the dogs gathered around him with their loud, excited 
barking. The hunters saw their danger, and hastily 
reloaded; but before either had finished loading, a 
large hound sprang upon the wounded animal, and, 
with the assistance of the other dogs, the deer was 
soon brought to the ground; the hunters came up, 
drove off the dogs, and dispatched their game. On 
leaving the dead buck, Hastings heard a cry from 
Henry, whom he was then able distinctly to see strug- 
gling with his brute foe. Hastings immediately ran to 
Henry’s assistance, followed by Dinsmore. Hastings 
was nearer ; but owing to the fact of his stopping twice 
to fire, and then desisting for fear of shooting Henry, 
both reached him about the same time. As the bear 
fell, Hastings rushed up to Henry, saying, '‘Thank 
God, I have killed him!” 

Hastings naturally expected some recognition of 
his services; but Henry, who, during his long and 
terrible struggle when he was looking death in the 
face, had felt as though he was being cruelly and pur- 
posely deserted by the Canadian, who he knew was 
nearest, replied, with no attempt to conceal his feel- 
ings, ‘T notice that you made no effort to kill the bear 
until he began to run, and I was out of danger.” 


30 


With British and Braves 


“Besides, it was my shot, and not his, that killed 
the brute,” interrupted Dinsmore. 

“I do n’t doubt it, my brave Kentuckian ; for, al- 
though you were twice as far away, you reached here 
as soon as Hastings, and I presume he would not have 
dared to come alone.” 

Even in times of peace nothing arouses the passion 
of the average young man as an accusation of coward- 
ice; but on the frontier, in times of continual struggle 
with danger, to call a young man a coward, was like 
assailing a woman’s honor. So unexpected and sud- 
den (and, as Hastings thought, unjust) was this double 
accusation, that it caused the hot blood to rush through 
his every vein, and anger overleaped the bounds of 
prudence, and he replied: “I would rather even be a 
cowardly Yankee dog, than a cringing, braying liar. 
Every time” (speaking to Dinsmore) “you hear the 
report of my gun, you claim to have shot something. 
When I shot the buck you ran up to it like a cur-dog, 
and now you claim to have killed this bear. If you 
were hunting alone, your mother would have to cover 
your head to stop the deer from browsing on your 
hair. And, sir, as for you” (turning to Henry), “I once 
before attempted to rescue a miserable dog, and the 
ungrateful cur bit me for my pains. If I were even- 
handed, I would soon show you who is the coward. 
You cowardly Yankees are always willing to fight 
when you are three to one.” It was this last remark 
that, in all probability, prevented bloodshed. 

Henry listened to the rage of the Canadian with 
a sort of contemptuous smile. He did not seem in the 
least excited. To him this burst of passion was only 


War of 1812 


31 


additional proof of Hastings’s cowardice or wanton 
cruelty. Not so with Dinsmore; his hot Kentucky 
blood could not brook Hastings’s insults, aimed at 
himself, his companion, and his country; and his first 
angry impulse was to demand instant retraction; but 
Hastings’s last words touched his pride and honor; 
for he saw that it would be cowardly to attack one in 
the Canadian’s position. While Dinsmore was hesi- 
tating for an instant between these conflicting emo- 
tions, Henry replied, coolly: '‘I beg your pardon, sir; 
if, after mustering up all your courage to stop a fight 
between two little curs you got bit, no wonder you 
were afraid of a bear.” 

“Yes,” added Dinsmore, “you need not be afraid 
you will get hurt, even if you are impudent. I would 
be ashamed to fight a cowardly Canadian like you; 
but some of these days I will go over to Canada, and 
then, if you are as ‘sassy’ and impudent as you are 
now, I will take you across riiy knee.” 

These taunts angered the Canadian almost beyond 
endurance, and a fight would have been a pleasure; 
a struggle would have been like letting off steam from 
an overloaded boiler, and he replied: “I hope I shall 
meet you on Canadian soil. There will be no dispute 
then as to who shot; and if you are hurt,” he added, 
with a tinge of exultation, “I presume you will be shot 
in the back, just as that other brute was.” 

By this time several had gathered around the dis- 
putants, among them John Wright, who now inter- 
posed, saying slowly: “Hark! God is in these woods; 
he is listening to your wicked and unseemly wrangle. 
We ought to be thankful that no one is hurt.” The 


32 


With British and Braves 


angry conversation ended; but not the angry feelings. 
Henry and Dinsmore firmly believed the Canadian 
would have been pleased at Henry’s death. Hastings 
believed they had purposely and cowardly picked a 
quarrel with him, not only because he was a Canadian, 
but because he and Charlotte were friends; and these 
mutual feelings, not simply of transient anger but 
bitterness, were so intensified as to become, for a time 
at least, actual hatred. 

Soon after the angry words had ceased, boys came 
driving into the woods with wagons; the game was 
gathered together, divided among the different hunt- 
ers as equally as possible, and when this could not be 
done satisfactorily, lots were drawn. Hastings, with- 
out waiting for his share of the game, almost un- 
noticed, walked away, and hastened towards Cleveland 
full of bitter thoughts. 

He felt that he had been cruelly wronged. The 
principal object he had in attending the hunt was to 
see Charlotte. Now he was to be disgraced in her 
eyes. “O, how I hope war will break out!” he said 
to himself, “and that I may meet that Kentuckian face 
to face in battle! I ’ll show the villain who is the 
coward then.” With these and many other bitter 
thoughts, he passed on until he reached and was about 
to pass John Wright’s house. Charlotte noticed him. 
“What,” she thought, “can be the reason for his going 
off alone at this hour?” for it still lacked some time to 
sundown. Her heart throbbed with a peculiar feeling 
of mingled dread and curiosity. “I wonder why he 
is going away in this manner. He is not going even to 
bid me good-bye. Well, let him go if he does not 


War of 1812 


33 


want to see me. No; there must be some reason for 
his actions.” She stepped out to meet him, saying, as 
she walked towards him: “You get tired of hunting 
very soon. I am afraid you have not been very suc- 
cessful. Where are the others? We expected you to 
come back and take supper with us, as Ruth and I 
have been busy all day getting it ready, and I have 
something real nice for you that I have made myself.” 

“I wish I could stay and take supper with you; 
but I can not. I must hasten back to Cleveland.” 
He spoke so earnestly in expressing his desire to stay, 
and so emphatically that he could not, that she said 
quickly: “What is the matter? You look so strange; 
are you sick?” 

“No, I am not sick; but I have been shamefully 
abused, and I confess that in my anger I forgot my- 
self, and did that which will lower me in your estima- 
tion.” He then briefly related to her all that had hap- 
pened at the hunt, and said, in closing: “I was most 
unjustly and cruelly accused, and I felt so bitter that, 
in the heat of passion, I said what, for your sake, I 
wish were unsaid.” 

“O, I am so sorry! But I do not blame you,” she 
said. “Had I been treated in Canada as you have 
been here, I would have hated the whole Canadian 
people — except one,” she added, in a lower tone. 

After a little further conversation, he said : “I must 
bid you good-bye.” 

“I don’t see why you can not stay; you can ex- 
plain how it happened, just as you have done to me.” 

“No; that is impossible. I have nothing to ex- 
plain.” 


3 


34 


With British and Braves 


She held out her hand, which he grasped warmly, 
and held while each said ''good-bye,” and expressed, 
both in words and looks, the hope that they would 
soon meet again. 

In a few moments Hastings was out of sight, and 
Charlotte busied herself in preparing supper. 

But each was thinking of the other. 

At half-past seven o’clock the men began to gather 
at John Wright’s; the women having arrived, for the 
most part earlier, to assist in preparing supper. This 
was a real frontier settlement gathering, there being 
about thirty men and women present, a number of 
both sexes being unmarried. The table consisted of 
three trestles, or horses as they were called, upon 
which were placed boards, covered with white linen 
table-spreads brought by different matrons (I say dif- 
ferent, for household furnishings were very scarce, 
and at any neighborhood gathering each woman fur- 
nished something). The seats were also boards placed 
upon stools; for only one rocking-chair (and that was 
a mark of wealth), with a very limited number of 
straight wooden ones at the most, was all that could 
be found in the frontiersman’s home. The dishes 
(with the exception of here and there a highly-colored 
piece of crockery, brought from New England as a 
kind of heirloom) were pewter and tin. The meal, 
however, would tempt the appetite of any of us. It 
was not served in courses; there were no servants to 
do that, nor enough dishes if there had been servants. 
It consisted of wild-turkey pot-pie, venison-steak, 
baked and mashed potatoes, wild-blackberry jam, 
cranberry-sauce, mince, pumpkin, and apple pie, milk- 


War of 1812 


35 


rising bread, hot fritters with maple-syrup, tea, milk, 
and, besides, what at this early day was a great treat 
to the New Englanders, sweet cider. The finest cham- 
pagne would have been insipid to them beside this 
cider, not simply on account of its taste, but because 
it reminded them of their old homes, many of them 
not having tasted of their favorite New England bev- 
erage since they had lived in Ohio, as the apple or- 
chards were, for the most part, too young as yet to 
produce much fruit. 

When the meal was ready — as it was at the ap- 
pointed hour, punctuality being one of the virtues of 
those times — all sat down, and John Wright called 
upon one of the neighbors to invoke God’s blessing. 
After grace commenced the usual hum of conversation, 
passing of food, and eating, when some one said, 
'‘Where is Henry? I hope he was not badly hurt 
to-day.” 

“Not much,” said Mrs. Wright; “but he is very 
sore, and was very much exhausted and has lain down, 
but will be out in a few moments.” 

Soon afterward Henry appeared, and was greeted 
as he walked along, apparently unhurt, with all kinds 
of complimentary and sympathizing remarks. All 
expressed their joy and pleasure at seeing him so 
slightly injured. 

“I am very sore, but will be as well as ever in a 
day or two; but I do not want another such experi- 
ence. I shall carry a recollection of this day’s hunt 
with me through life.” 

Among the party was a young woman from Cleve- 
land. She had not been originally invited to the 


36 


With British and Braves 


supper; but her father was a fur-buyer, a very im- 
portant personage in those days, and she and her 
father had accidentally called that afternoon. She 
had never attended a hunting party, and, of course, 
she was invited to stay, which invitation, after a great 
many excuses, she with apparent reluctance, accepted; 
although there were some among the guests unchari- 
table enough to hint that she called at that particular 
time for the express purpose of being invited to the 
supper. 

Her name was Miss Mixture, a French Canadian 
by birth. She was young, handsome, and attractive, 
and she had that wonderful power that some women 
have of looking love. A woman can throw more in- 
tense, soulful, love-enkindling love into one deep, ten- 
der, modest, yet passionate expression of the eyes 
than a man can convey by all the terms of endearment 
known to the tongue. Fortunately, it is rare that a 
woman has this power unless she truly loves, so that 
this manifestation of the eyes is soul speaking to soul; 
but for some inscrutable reason some women have 
been given this gift of piercing the soul with one of 
these intense, passionate, soul-kindling looks when all 
is false; when between the eye and soul there is no 
connection. When such women are handsome and 
cruel — they are always false — they are the most dan- 
gerous beings God has yet seen fit to create. This 
power Miss Mixture possessed in an eminent degree. 

Soon after Henry was seated, she said, with a sweet 
look of sympathy: “May I ask how you got hurt, Mr. 
Wright? Something must have happened at the hunt 
of which I have not heard.’’ 


War of 1812 


37 


“O, nothing much,” replied Henry; ‘'only I had a 
lively tussle with a bear, that I have no desire to re- 
peat.” 

“Is that so? O, I wish you would tell us all 
about it.” 

Some of the other ladies joined in the request, but 
from very different motives, and Henry modestly de- 
scribed his struggle in the woods, ending with the 
shooting of old bruin; but did not say a word about 
the difficulty at the close. 

“How long do you suppose you were struggling 
with the brute?” asked Miss Mixture. 

“O, I do not know. It seemed to me a long while; 
I presume, though, not over ten or fifteen minutes.” 

“Ten or fifteen minutes!” she exclaimed. “You 
are the bravest man I ever knew. Under such circum- 
stances, surrounded by friends, as you were, I would 
have called for help.” 

Henry would have preferred letting the matter 
drop; but not to reply, he concluded, after a moment’s 
thought, would be accepting undeserved praise, so he 
simply said: “There was a great deal of noise, and 
perhaps I was not heard.” He was too honest to say 
“he was not,” when he believed one did hear him. 

'‘Perhaps they did not hear you? Why, Mr. Wright, 
you do not think that any one with the attributes of 
a man would be so cowardly or cruel as to leave you 
alone to struggle for life, and not come to your as- 
sistance? It does not seem possible, and yet it does 
seem very strange that when some, at least, must have 
been very near you, no one came to your assistance 
until the bear started to run.” 


38 


With British and Braves 


Several of the ladies, who had not heard the full 
particulars, exclaimed: ‘Impossible! Why, to think 
of such a thing is dreadful!” 

“Who were nearest you?” 

Charlotte bit her lips, Ruth looked uneasy, and 
Dinsmore began to feel extremely unpleasant. 

Henry was slow to anger; but, when once aroused, 
it took a long time for his feelings to cool, and the 
thought of his lonely and terrible struggle in the 
woods, when it seemed to him he was being cruelly 
deserted, (pame back to him, and his eyes flashed as he 
said: “I have not yet blamed any one. Two young 
men, one of whom I believe to be a brave, true man, 
shot at the same time a large buck, and as it plunged 
forward both ran to secure it, and in the excitement 
they did not hear me.” 

“O, dreadful! Two men, or two who call them- 
selves men,” said Miss Mixture, “felt more concern 
over who should have the credit of killing a deer, than 
they did the life of a companion; and you, who have 
always so much charity for every one, are trying to 
shield and excuse them. I wonder if, after these 
brave men ran to your assistance, they also quarreled 
as to who shot the bear.” 

“O, stop! do not say such dreadful things,” inter- 
rupted one. 

“I know,” replied Miss Mixture, “it does seem 
dreadful; but, from what Mr. Wright says, I should 
think that was the case.” 

Charlotte longed to give Hastings’s explanation 
of his conduct, and once or twice was in the very act 
of speaking; but fear and maidenly modesty pre- 


War of i8j2 


39 


vented. Dinsmore’s feelings are easily imagined. He 
was brave, generous, and manly. Cowardice was dis- 
honor. He was among strangers. It seemed to him 
that the eyes of the whole company were upon him, 
branding him as a cruel, treacherous coward. Yet 
to speak now in self-defense would be almost equal to 
a confession. The blood was coursing through his 
veins, as though his heart had become some great 
engine. His face was hot, his brow feverish, and he 
knew that every flush of his pent-up feeling was an 
apparent confession of guilt, and, besides, his accuser 
was a woman (for Miss Mixture’s statements were at 
least covert accusations). 

'Tf she were only a man,” he thought. A silence, 
short but painful, fell upon the company. Henry 
looked up. He saw on Dinsmore’s face a look of un- 
mistakable embarrassment and anger, that was actually 
painful, and in an instant his natural bashfulness, his 
aversion to a contest or scene with Miss Mixture was 
gone, and he quickly said: “Your remarks. Miss Mix- 
ture, might be so interpreted as to do a brave man 
a cruel wrong. Sergeant Dinsmore, who so gallantly 
assisted General Harrison in winning a glorious vic- 
tory at Tippecanoe, was one of the men who came to 
my assistance, and although twice as far off as one 
other person, was the first to assist me, and he it was 
who killed my brute foe, and I will allow no one in 
my hearing to call in question either his honor or 
his courage.” 

“O, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wright,” hastily inter- 
rupted Miss Mixture. “I did not know that either of 
the gentlemen was present. Of course, so brave a 


40 


With British and Braves 


man as Sergeant Dinsmore could not be guilty of such 
an act.” 

She was about to proceed further, when Mr. 
Wright, interrupting, said: “We have had enough, it 
seems to me, of this conversation. Let us rather praise 
God that Henry is safe. No person of honor can 
justly question the bravery of Sergeant Dinsmore. 
Let us not tempt God by any further discussion of 
what might have happened. Henry is safe, and I am 
thankful.” 

Mr. Wright spoke so authoritatively, so earnestly, 
and with such a tone of reproach, that all further con- 
versation on this subject ceased. 

But the pleasure of the evening was over, and soon 
after supper the guests departed, and Dinsmore an- 
nounced his intention of returning to Cleveland; but 
was finally persuaded to remain over night. 

Ruth and Dinsmore had held but little conversa- 
tion with each other; but both felt an unusual pleasure 
when they were together, and after they parted each 
thought very often of the other. 

I ought to say, before leaving this part of my story, 
that before Hastings left Cleveland, Miss Mixture 
managed to see him, and related, with much coloring, 
what took place at Mr. Wright’s, and how every one, 
and especially all the ladies, but herself, seemed to 
think that Hastings was a cruel coward. The hunt 
was over, the excitement passed; but the bitter, angry 
feelings engendered were unfortunately still alive. 


Chapter II 

In June, 1812, war was declared against England. 
'‘Never surely was an unfortunate country precipi- 
tated into an unequal and perilous contest under cir- 
cumstances more untoward.” Not only were we un- 
prepared for war, but we were divided against our- 
selves. Nearly one-half of our people were opposed 
to the war. Besides, m.any of our best people, like 
John Wright, believed it was not only an unjustifiable, 
but an unholy war; that we were taking up arms 
against our own kindred, and against the only nation 
that with any degree of success was struggling for the 
cause of freedom and humanity against French in- 
fidelity and the military despotism of Napoleon. Eng- 
land had, it is true, been guilty of some unjustifiable 
acts. She had impressed our seamen into her service. 
So had the French, and with less reason and show of 
justice. For England searched our ships under the 
plea that an Englishman could not voluntarily re- 
nounce his allegiance to his native country, and that 
if found upon the high seas he was liable to military 
duty in the service of his mother country. 

Without going into detail, the real facts are that 
during the long-continued Napoleonic wars, many 
matters had arisen that had caused friction between 
us and England, and the military spirit of the age had 
caught hold of our people, especially in the Southeast, 
which States voted almost unanimously for the war, 

41 


42 


With British and Braves 


while the States of the Northeast, from which nearly 
all of our seamen had been impressed, voted, through 
their representatives, nearly two to one against the 
war. 

It is easy to make any brave people go to war, if 
you can make them believe that they are not only 
fighting in a just cause, but that they are certain to 
reap both personal and national glory. It was the 
belief that Canada could be easily conquered — not 
that the Canadians were cowards ; but that they would, 
after a little show of resistance, side with us — that 
caused the fitting out of Hull’s expedition to Detroit. 
Even before war had been formally declared, Hull 
was ordered to organize an army at Urbana for the 
invasion of Canada. 

The Kentuckians are naturally a brave, generous, 
and impulsive people. Their hearts had been fired by 
the magnetic eloquence of Clay, who was a zealous 
advocate of the war, so that while many of the States 
were compelled to resort to drafting, or the giving of 
what seemed then large bounties, in order to secure 
soldiers, in Kentucky more men were ready and anx- 
ious to enlist than could be accepted. Among the first 
to enlist was Sergeant Johnson Dinsmore. He was 
made lieutenant, and, reporting to General Hull, was 
placed under the command of Colonel Miller, under 
whom he had served at Tippecanoe. 

He was brave, generous, kind-hearted, and sym- 
pathetic. He loved his home, his country, and his 
mother. Ruth had made an impression upon him, 
which, while it had not yet ripened into love, kept 
continually in his mind the events of his visit at Cleve- 


War of 1812 


43 


land. And while his patriotism was sincere and dis- 
interested, the thought of invading Canada stirred up 
and developed all the latent evil in his being. He 
often struggled against this passion; but it would rise 
within him like some terrible dream. All the stories 
that he had ever read of wars, with deadly personal 
conflicts, came to his mind. Murder was in his heart; 
not that he would have killed Hastings had he met him 
outside of the field of battle; but he longed to meet 
him in deadly combat. In his half-wakeful dreams, 
he recalled accounts of heroes warming their weapons 
in the blood of their foes, and he often imagined him- 
self engaged in a deadly combat, in which Hastings’s 
life-current reddened his blade. With these conflicting 
emotions stirring his heart, he set out with Hull’s 
army for Detroit, about the ist of June, 1812. 

Hull had about fifteen hundred men in his com- 
mand. He had, from Urbana, to travel a distance 
of about two hundred miles. His route lay not only 
through a dense, unbroken forest, but most of the 
way to where the village of Maumee now stands the 
ground was soft and swampy. Roads had to be 
cut, timber felled, causeways laid across morasses, 
bridges constructed over streams, blockhouses built 
for the care of the sick and the protection of the sup- 
plies. Many were taken sick with malarial fever. Be- 
sides, the mosquitoes and black-flies followed the sol- 
diers in great swarms, giving them no rest by day or 
night. It took nearly a month to reach the Maumee 
River. From there to Detroit was a comparatively 
good road, and the remainder of the march was soon 
accomplished. 


44 


With British and Braves 


Hull reached Detroit in the early part of July. 
After deducting those left behind from sickness and a 
few desertions, and adding the Michigan militia, who 
joined him there, Hull had about eighteen hundred 
men. Soon after reaching Detroit — which then had 
about eight hundred inhabitants — Hull crossed over 
into Canada, with the object of taking Malden (now 
Amherstberg). Dinsmore was given the distinction 
of leading the van, and was the first man to spring 
from his boat upon Canadian soil. His heart beat 
with exultation. Soon he would have — what is always 
a pleasure to brave soldiers — an opportunity to strike 
a blow for the honor of his country, to win a glorious 
victory, or to “look proudly to heaven from the death- 
bed of fame.” But, alas, for his fond hopes ! 

Hull marched a few miles down the river, halted, 
issued a boastful proclamation, in which he announced 
that he had a force sufficient not only to conquer all 
opposition, but to protect his friends and punish his 
enemies, and asked the Canadians to lay down their 
arms, and renounce the tyranny of British rule. He 
also threatened dire vengeance — in fact, instant death 
— to any white man found fighting with the Indians. 
The officers and men were eager to attack Malden at 
once. Had Hull done so, no doubt the attack would 
have been successful, as the Canadians were wavering 
in their loyalty to England, and the British garrison 
was preparing to evacuate. But Hull thought best 
to fortify his position, and give time to let his gran- 
diloquent proclamation have its effect upon the Cana- 
dians. During this foolish, inexcusable delay, the 
British were strengthening the fort and receiving re- 


War of 1812 


45 


enforcements, while we were doing nothing except &n- 
gaging in some unimportant skirmishes. The discon- 
tent among the men and officers became greater and 
greater every day. In private conversation, they 
openly accused the commanding general of imbecility 
or treachery. In the meantime, word was received of 
the fall of the fort at Mackinac, and that the British 
fleet was coming from there to re-enforce Malden. 

At about the same time, Hull learned that Captain 
Henry Brush, of Chillicothe, with a large amount of 
cattle, provisions, and general supplies for the army, 
had reached the river Raisin, all sent forward by the 
vigilant and energetic Governor Meigs, of Ohio. This 
new's was followed by a messenger, who gave infor- 
mation that Tecumseh, with a large body of Indians, 
had crossed the Detroit River below Malden, for the 
purpose of intercepting Captain Brush, and that Cap- 
tain Brush had not sufficient force to cut his way 
through to Detroit, and at the same time protect his 
supplies. The officers of the Ohio troops begged Hull 
to allow them to go to Brush’s rescue. At first he 
flatly refused; but so great was the discontent of the 
officers, that he finally yielded. But delay was fatal. 
The rescuing party, during a fog, fell into an ambus- 
cade, and was defeated and driven back with consider- 
able loss. Hull’s officers and men demanded, almost 
upon the point of mutiny, to be sent against the enemy 
at Malden before British re-enforcements could arrive 
from Mackinac. Hull finally consented; but just as all 
was in readiness, and the officers and men were in high 
spirits, believing the time for action had at last arrived, 
an order was issued not to advance, but to recross the 


* 


46 


With British and Braves 


river and retreat to Detroit, and leave to the vengeance 
of their own Government all the inhabitants who had 
confided in Hiiirs promises of protection. Sullenly 
the army obeyed the order of its weak, overcautious, 
and unworthy commander. 

On the night of August 7th and the morning of the 
8th, they crossed the deep, rapid river in silence and 
sadness, and camped on the plain behind Fort Detroit. 
Hull gave as a reason for his retreat the necessity of 
opening up communication with Ohio and his sup- 
plies on the river Raisin, although but a few days 
previous he had refused to send assistance to Captain 
Brush. For once Hull acted promptly, for on the very 
day he reached Detroit he sent Colonel Miller with 
six hundred men to open up communication with the 
river Raisin. As they were ready to start. Colonel 
Miller rode in front of his men, saying, “My brave 
soldiers, we will soon add another victory to that of 
Tippecanoe. Forward, march!” and on they went 
down the river. 

During the forenoon of the following day, as they 
proceeded slowly and carefully through the woods, 
they would every now and then catch glimpses of sav- 
ages, moving as rapidly and silently as panthers 
through the forest. About four o’clock in the after- 
noon, they were nearly fourteen miles from Detroit, 
near an Indian village called Maguaga. They were 
about to enter a forest of great oaks, flanked on the 
one side by a dense, impassable swamp, and on the 
other side by the Detroit River, and beyond which 
was a cleared field. 

Lieutenant Dinsmore was sent forward with fifty 


War of 1812 


47 


men to reconnoiter, as it was evident that the enemy 
was present in large numbers. He had proceeded but 
a short distance into the woods when, from the thick 
bushes skirting the marsh, the Indians opened up with 
a rapid fire of musketry. Colonel Miller, on hearing 
the firing, pushed forward at once into the forest. The 
Indians fled to the opposite side of the opening, closely 
followed by the Americans, who had no sooner reached 
the cleared space than they were exposed to a terrible 
fire of musketry from both British and Indians. Col- 
onel Miller was severely wounded; but the Americans 
rushed on unchecked by the fire of the enemy, and 
plunged into the opposite forest and over a low stock- 
ade, Lieutenant Dinsmore being the first to enter the 
woods at the head of his command. On reaching the 
low stockade he, with almost reckless bravery, sprang 
over it, his men following. Behind the stockade and 
in the woods the Indians fought with desperate valor, 
and the contest became a hand-to-hand struggle. 

Dinsmore, upon springing over the stockade, found 
himself face to face with a powerful Shawnee Indian. 
Dinsmore had only his sword in his hand, and before 
he had fairly gained an upright position after his spring 
over the fallen logs, the Indian made a vicious lunge 
at him with his bayonet. Dinsmore quickly threw out 
his sword, and partly by parrying the thrust, and partly 
by springing aside, he barely escaped being run 
through ; then as the Indian, by the force of the plunge 
which had thus unexpectedly missed its mark, par- 
tially stumbled forward, Dinsmore quickly seized him, 
and by a sudden trip threw him to the ground ; but at 
the same time the Indian seized hold of Dinsmore, and 


48 


With British and Braves 


they both fell. As they reached the ground, the In- 
dian loosened his hold, in order to draw his hunting- 
knife. At the same instant, Dinsmore, with a quick 
effort, jumped to his feet; but the Indian, with the 
agility of a cat, also sprang up, and rushed forward to 
plunge his knife into Dinsmore; but Dinsmore was too 
quick. He had drawn his pistol as he rose to his feet, 
and a well-directed shot caused the Indian to reel and 
stagger to the ground. Not a second too soon was 
the shot, for an instant after the pistol was suddenly 
knocked from his hand, and Dinsmore, to his surprise 
and pleasure, found himself face to face with Hastings. 
He sprang for his sword, which had fallen in his com- 
bat with the Indian. Hastings waited until Dinsmore 
regained it. He had too much honor, even in the heat 
of battle, to strike down a personal enemy while un- 
armed. In front of the two was a small, open space 
surrounded by four grand oaks; on the farther side 
was an opening in the woods, that lengthened out into 
a long vista through the forest to the bank of the river ; 
but close at hand the trees nearly shut them away from 
the others, and left them alone in this narrow space. 

The shouting of men, the yelling of Indians, the 
clash of weapons, the quick report of guns and pistols, 
were heard every instant and on all sides ; but unmind- 
ful of everything except each other, alone with no 
seconds save the great oaks, they plunged into a ter- 
rible duel. Each was impelled by every motive that 
can actuate man to intensity of action. Patriotism, 
love, and honor told each that he must conquer or die. 
Hatred said the same. The man who is actuated by 
hatred alone, is weak beside the man whose hatred is 


War of 1812 


49 


stimulated by the voice of duty. When all the good 
and evil passions are thrown into one vortex, each 
urging the other on to the intensest action, man be- 
comes a mighty force for good or evil, an angel or 
a monster. Each was equally skillful ; each determined 
to conquer or die. Hastings was the stronger; Dins- 
more the quicker. For a few moments the contest 
was so equal, each parrying the other’s blows with 
such skill, that neither seemed to have the advantage, 
and nothing but the clashing of the swords, the force 
and rapidity of the blows, showed the bitter intensity 
of the conflict. 

At length Hastings received a severe thrust, from 
which blood began to flow. Perceiving the other was 
the quicker, he rushed forward to strike down his foe 
by main strength; but the blow, instead of injuring 
his opponent, broke his weapon, and Dinsmore sprang 
forward, and perhaps, in the heat of the struggle, 
would have slain his enemy; but his weapon dropped 
from his hand. A stray bullet from the river, follow- 
ing the course of the opening in the woods, had 
wounded his shoulder. Not a word had been spoken 
by either, and in the intensity of their struggle they 
had not noticed that the conflict around them had 
ceased. No sound was heard except the occasional 
groan of the wounded, and some scattering shots from 
the river and in the forest to the south. They were 
alone in the great forest, both wounded, one weapon- 
less, the other nearly helpless. Neither knew the re- 
sult of the battle. Each looked, I might almost say 
glared, at the other with all the bitter intensity of feel- 
ing that patriotism, pride, passion, personal hatred, 
4 


50 


With British and Braves 


and present physical pain had engendered. The si- 
lence was broken by Dinsmore saying: “You have 
no sword, but we both have pistols; draw yours and 
defend yourself, or surrender.” Both instantly drew 
their pistols; but at this moment three of Dinsmore’s 
command appeared. In the scattered, running, and 
hand-to-hand fight in the woods they supposed he had 
fallen. 

“Surrender,” said one of them to Hastings, who, 
seeing further resistance useless, lowered his weapon, 
and yielded himself up as a prisoner. The American 
victory had been complete. The British had taken 
to their boats and crossed the river, covering their 
retreat with a fire of musketry, one of which parting 
shots had wounded Dinsmore. 

The Indians fought with great bravery, and were 
only driven back upon being deserted by their 
white allies. Every reader of our early history has 
noticed that the Indians almost invariably displayed 
much more courage when fighting with white allies, 
whether against white men or Indians, than when 
fighting alone. 

The prisoners and wounded were sent back to De- 
troit by boat, on which neither of the combatants saw 
each other. Both were painfully, but not dangerously 
wounded. The conflict had intensified, rather than 
assuaged, their hatred of each other; but with this 
difference, one was exultant with victory, the other 
humiliated by defeat. 

Colonel Miller being wounded, as we have seen. 
Colonel Cass, next in command, sent a courier to 
General Hull, asking him for authority to reap the 


War of 1812 


51 


fruits of victory, and proceed at once to the river 
Raisin ; but while the way was now clear, and nothing 
prevented the rescue of Captain Brush and the obtain- 
ing of the needed supplies. Colonel Miller and his 
command were ordered to return to Detroit, so that 
the glorious and complete victory of Maguaga was a 
barren one. Upon the return of Miller, the American 
officers held a meeting, in which their commanding 
officer was denounced in the strongest language. The 
officers openly proclaimed him either an imbecile or 
a traitor, and the proposition was made to remove 
him from the command; but it would be a bold step 
for subordinates to strip a commanding officer of his 
sword and authority while at the head of an army, and 
no one was willing to take the command under such 
circumstances. 

On August 14th, after all that had been gained 
by the battle under Colonel Miller had been lost, Hull 
at length sent out another force to the Raisin. On 
the 15th, General Brock, who commanded the British 
forces, moved upon Detroit, and demanded its sur- 
render, saying, “The numerous body of Indians that 
have attached themselves to my troops will be beyond 
my control after the contest begins but Hull replied, 
with more apparent courage than he had hitherto 
shown, that he was able to defend the place, and would 
do so at all hazards; but after some desultory firing 
that afternoon, as the enemy were about to march 
against us the next morning, Hull sent forward a flag 
of truce, and ignominiously surrendered. 

The troops were astounded and bewildered. Con- 
fident in their ability to repulse the enemy, they were 


52 


With British and Braves 


eager for the contest to begin. Not a look of fear 
or cowardice met the eye. Every man expected a 
proud day for his country, and was anxious to perform 
his share toward the result. When the order to sur- 
render came, it was like a clap of thunder out of a 
clear sky. Like true soldiers, they obeyed; but not 
without openly expressed contempt for their com- 
mander. Hull not only surrendered his command 
and the Michigan militia, but also Captain Brush’s 
command at the river Raisin, and also stipulated that 
the Ohio militia, who were on their way to join him, 
should be paroled, and not bear arms again during the 
war. Hull was afterward court-martialed, and found 
guilty of cowardice, and sentenced to be shot; but 
on account of his age and his services in the Revolu- 
tion, he was pardoned by Madison. The justice of 
his sentence has been questioned, and time will not 
permit a full review of his conduct; but it seems to 
me that the sentence was just, and the pardon under 
the circumstances eminently proper. 

Dinsmore was, upon his return to Detroit, sent 
to a hospital, which was located in a large log-house 
belonging to one of the early French settlers, some 
of whose descendants are to-day among the most 
prominent inhabitants of that beautiful city. A few 
days after his return, Dinsmore was informed that the 
British and Indians were preparing to attack the 
American forces. He begged to be allowed to take 
part in the — as he supposed — coming conflict; but the 
surgeon would not permit. He said any agitation in 
the hot August weather would be dangerous, and, 
besides, Dinsmore was threatened with malarial fever. 


War of 1812 


53 


On the morning of the i6th, Dinsmore was pacing 
his room, listening each moment for the sound of the 
cannon, and w’ondering why all was so quiet, when the 
door opened, and one of the Ohio Militiamen entered 
his room, excitedly saying: “My God! Lieutenant; 
Hull has surrendered. He ought to be shot as a 
coward and a traitor. He has not only surrendered his 
forces, but everything else. We are all to be paroled, 
and agree not to fight again during the war. I belong 
to a battery that had a brass gun taken from the British 
during the Revolution. On the gun is this inscription, 
‘Taken at Saratoga on the 17th of October, 1777.' 
When the British saw this gun, they went wild. One 
of the old soldiers bent over and kissed it, and one of 
the officers said, ‘We will have another inscription put 
on it, “Retaken at Detroit, August 16, 1812.” ' While 
they were interested with the guns, and our soldiers 
were looking on, many of them with tears in their 
eyes, crying like children to think that we should sur- 
render without scarcely firing a shot, I managed to 
slip away unnoticed, and I am going to try and escape, 
or die in the attempt. I am not going to promise not 
to fight again.'' 

“Nor I," replied Dinsmore, whose excitement made 
him forget his wound. “I will yet live to put another 
inscription on that gun, and that will be the date of 
its recapture." 

At that moment death would have been infinitely 
preferable to surrender. The thought of Hastings, 
proud and exultant, marching him off through Canada 
as a personal prisoner rushed through Dinsmore's 
mind, and made him almost tremble with suppressed 


54 


With British and Braves 


emotion, and he said: “I am badly wounded; but if 
there is any possibility of escape, I will try, if I die 
in the attempt/' 

“Come, then, we must be quick,” said the Ohioan, 
whose name was Matthew Hentzler. “I have a friend 
a short distance from here, who lives just on the edge 
of the thick woods to the north of us, who will secrete 
us till night; and then, if we can get a boat, we will 
take our chances of getting down the river.” 

“All right, my brave fellow,” said Dinsmore; “I 
will follow.” 

“We will need these,” said Hentzler; and he 
stepped to Dinsmore’s bed, pulled off the blankets, and 
hastily rolled them up. 

The two men then quickly withdrew from the 
house. On emerging, they saw a number of British 
soldiers approaching the village from down the river; 
but, keeping the hospital between them and the ad- 
vancing soldiers, they proceeded up the river, without 
being observed, for about a quarter of a mile, passing 
along a kind of cow-path or trail, right through what is 
now the heart of the city of Detroit. At length they 
reached the log-cabin of Hentzler’s acquaintance; but 
they found the owner absent, and his wife, in womanly 
terror, awaiting news from her husband and General 
Hull's forces. 

“The coward has surrendered,” said Hentzler, 
“without so much as scaring a deer.” 

Just then her husband appeared, and affirmed 
Hentzler's statement of Hull's surrender. 

Turning to his friend, Hentzler said: “I suppose 
we are prisoners of war; but we are going to try to 


War of 1812 


55 


escape, if possible. Can you hide us till night, and 
then get us a boat?’^ 

“What do you want of a boat?” asked the other. 
“Are you going to make another invasion into 
Canada?” 

“This is no time,” replied Hentzler, “to joke. If 
we can be secreted till night, and can get a boat, we 
are going to try to get to Frenchtown or Maumee, 
and then to Cleveland.” 

“That will never do,” replied the other. “You will 
be either drowned or scalped before you reach the 
mouth of the Detroit River.” 

“Well,” said Hentzler, “we had rather take our 
chances of being scalped or drowned, than to be either 
confined as prisoners of war or paroled.” 

“Come with me, then,” said the owner of the cabin; 
and he led the way through a strip of woods to the 
bank of the river, and there pointed out to Dinsmore 
and Hentzler a small row-boat secreted under some 
bushes; then, pointing to a thicket near by, he said: 
“Get into that thicket, spread your blankets upon the 
ground, and lie there until I come, which will be soon 
after sundown. Nobody will find you there, and I 
will bring some provisions and a bearskin that will 
protect Lieutenant Dinsmore, for I am afraid he will 
find the trip a severe one; but you will have to take 
your chances;” then, turning abruptly away, he said, 
“I must hasten home, and you must hide.” 

It was fortunate that Hastings did not learn of 
Dinsmore’s flight from the hospital until the next day; 
for when he heard of Dinsmore^s escape, he was very 
excited and angry, and every effort was put forth to 


56 


With British and Braves 


find Dinsmore; but it was then too late. A little 
after dark Hentzler’s friend appeared, bringing a fine 
bearskin, several loaves of bread, some cheese, a cake 
of maple-sugar, a flask of bitters, some dried black- 
berries, and dried venison. From the river arose a 
thick fog, so that nothing could be discerned for any 
distance, and, with just rowing enough to keep the 
boat near the center of the stream, Hentzler and Dins- 
more floated down with the current. After rowing for 
some time without any indication of their being ob- 
served or followed, they partook of the refreshments 
provided for them. 

Morning found them at the upper end of Lake 
Erie. The weather was fine, the lake calm, and before 
night they reached Frenchtown, and without special 
event reached Cleveland in a small sailing-vessel a few 
days later. The arrival of this vessel was the first news 
that had reached Cleveland of Hull’s surrender. It 
is more easy to imagine than to describe the feelings 
of shame, fear, and anger with which this news was 
received. 


Chapter III 

As AI.READY remarked, the arrival of the boat with 
Dinsmore and Hentzler was the first information that 
the people of Cleveland had of Hull’s surrender. It 
seems strange to us now that it took so long for an 
important event like this to travel so short a distance. 
The excitement and fatigue of the trip to Cleveland, 
the humiliation which Dinsmore felt over Hull’s sur- 
render, added to his somewhat severe wound, were 
too great a strain for even his hardy constitution and 
robust health. Soon after his arrival, he fell sick with 
a fever, and for some time his recovery seemed doubt- 
ful. He was taken to the home of Hentzler, who lived 
with his mother — his father being dead. 

Hentzler, as his name indicates, was of German 
descent. He was one of that class of Germans who 
have done so much to make the great Central and 
Western States what they are — the glory of modern 
progress and civilization. He was a true American; 
brave, patriotic, honest, frugal, kindhearted, and, 
above all, steadfast in his friendship. He had become 
greatly attached to Dinsmore, and was in every re- 
spect true and loyal to this friendship. His mother 
also was a fair type of thousands of the better middle- 
class of German women, practical, sensible, and kind- 
hearted. She nursed and cared for her son’s friend 
as only a woman can. Thus several weeks passed, 
and, although the fever seemed to have been broken, 
Dinsmore improved very slowly. 

57 


58 


With British and Braves 


Some three weeks after his arrival at Cleveland, 
he was lying on his sick-bed, when Mrs. Hentzler 
stepped into his room, and said: ^‘Lieutenant, here 
are some friends.” 

Dinsmore looked up, and there stood Henry and 
Ruth. A look of unmistakable pleasure quickly spread 
over the sick soldier’s face. 

“I am so glad to see you,” said Dinsmore. 

The two sat down, and conversed a few moments 
with the sick man, when Ruth said: “We ought not to 
talk with Mr. Dinsmore any longer. We shall tire 
him, and he will be worse for our visit.” 

“O no,” replied Dinsmore. “It does me so much 
good to see you. I feel better for your coming. I 
feared,” he said, looking at Ruth in a way that for 
some reason caused a slight blush to mantle her 
cheeks, “that you had forgotten me, as I had heard 
nothing from you since I reached Cleveland. I felt 
as though you were ashamed of me, and I do not 
blame you if you are. It is certainly no credit to have 
belonged to Hull’s army.” 

“We are ashamed of Hull,” replied Ruth, warmly. 
“He has disgraced himself, and dishonored his coun- 
try’s flag; but his men were not at fault, and we are 
all proud of such brave men as you and Mr. Hentzler, 
who were ready to risk your lives rather than be 
paroled.” 

This assurance from Ruth was better than medi- 
cine; for while Dinsmore felt that he had done his 
duty, yet he often felt in his hours of sickness that it 
was a disgrace to have been even a member of Hull’s 
army. 


War of 1812 


59 


“I will tell you/’ continued Ruth, ‘Vhy we have 
not called to see you before. We do not live near 
Cleveland now. After the defeat of the Indians at 
Tippecanoe, we did not think there would be any more 
danger from them, and this spring father thought we 
were not going to have a war with England. Father 
and uncle had an opportunity to sell, and we all moved 
some forty miles west of here, near the mouth of the 
Huron River. We came to Cleveland to make a few 
purchases, and accidentally heard that you were sick; 
and so we came directly to see you. O, I do so wish 
we had not moved, for now we are all afraid of the 
Indians! But Harrison has been put in command, 
and he says he will drive the British out of Detroit 
before the snow flies; and the Indians are so much 
afraid of him that, father says, there is not much 
danger.” 

After a brief visit, which Ruth brought to a termi- 
nation — for she did not wish to tire or excite the sick 
man — with many wishes for Dinsmore’s speedy re- 
covery, and the promise to come again, Henry and 
Ruth departed. 

On Ruth’s return home she seemed happy, but 
serious and thoughtful; and that evening Mrs. Hentz- 
ler remarked, as she sat beside Dinsmore : “Lieutenant, 
you are improving very fast. You have not looked 
so bright and cheerful since you were taken sick as 
you do to-night.” 

John Wright was a type of the better class of New 
England pioneers who settled in Northern Ohio; 
strong in body and mind; religious, sometimes big- 
oted; not unfrequently misguided by his prejudice. 


6o 


With British and Braves 


and sometimes intolerant; slow to decide, but firm 
even to stubbornness when once he had decided; self- 
reliant, educated, intelligent, reading all that the na- 
ture of his surroundings permitted — but he read for 
facts; he formed his own conclusions — kindhearted, 
but unemotional, so much so that those who were 
not intimately acquainted with him thought him cold- 
blooded. Whether right or wrong in his conclusions, 
he acted according to his convictions. 

John and his good wife were seated before the 
great fireplace. The evening was cool and frosty. A 
warm hickory fire made the room bright and cheerful. 
They were alone; Henry and Ruth were at their 
uncle’s. Mrs. Wright was knitting; Mr. Wright was 
smoking. Neither had spoken for some time. He 
seemed to be watching the sparks fly up the mouth 
of the great chimney; she also gazed at the fire, and 
at length stopped knitting. Raising her eyes, she 
cast upon her husband a tender, loving, and inquiring 
look. She noticed a tear stealing down his rough, 
sunburned and labor-scarred cheek. “O, John, what 
is the matter!” she exclaimed. 

'‘Mother,” said John, "these are terrible times. 
You know I have been opposed to war with England. 
I believed it was an unholy war. To be sure, England 
has wronged us ; but she is engaged in a terrible strug- 
gle, almost single-handed, against nearly all Europe, 
and the greatest tyrant and usurper of the age. Eng- 
land represents all there is of constitutional liberty 
in Europe. By fighting England we are not only 
helping Napoleon, and taking up arms against a Chris- 
tian nation, but assisting infidel France. Very many 



Farmer John Wrkjht and his Wife 








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War of 1812 


61 


of those who clamored the loudest for war care but 
little for the sufferings of our impressed seamen. They 
desired the easy and, as they then thought, glorious 
task of conquering Canada. They foolishly thought 
the Canadians would not fight. Hull’s campaign is 
in keeping with the belief that actuated, to a great 
extent at least, this unjustifiable war. Hull should 
not have attempted the invasion of Canada with so 
few men and such inadequate protection for his sup- 
plies. His expedition was as ill conceived as disgrace- 
fully executed. He had not arms and men enough to 
succeed, even if he had been as active as he was cow- 
ardly and dilatory.” 

‘'Then you do not blame him for surrendering,” 
said Mrs. Wright. 

‘T certainly do,” replied her husband. “He ought 
to be court-martialed. He should have fought until 
his forces were cut to pieces, and until resistance was 
no longer possible. He had brave soldiers, and had 
he been worthy of their command, he would have 
either fought until he received assistance, won a vic- 
tory, or, in defeat, made the American name glorious 
for courage and heroism.” 

“But,” said Mrs. Wright, “the British had a su- 
perior force, and the British General Brock threat- 
ened that if Hull did not surrender, the Indians might 
become uncontrollable, and Hull’s entire army, as 
well as the inhabitants of Detroit, become the object 
of indiscriminate massacre.” 

“The slaughter,” replied Mr. Wright, “might, it is 
true, have been terrible, and at the same time unavail- 
ing; but we must remember that war is always dreadful. 


62 


With British and Braves 


This should have been thought of before it was begun. 
It would have been infinitely better to sacrifice every 
man in Hull’s command, and with them every non- 
combatant, than thus ignominiously to surrender after 
firing scarcely a gun. Life is bought too dear when 
purchased at the price of such shame and dishonor. 
Besides, look at the hundreds, and even thousands, 
that must die, many of them by the cruel hands of the 
savages, before this war is over, on account of the 
cowardice of Hull. Already we have learned that the 
garrison at Fort Dearborn, besides many women and 
children who were under its protection, have all either 
been cruelly slaughtered, or parceled out among the 
different Indian tribes as prisoners. The fall of Fort 
Dearborn was the result of this same cowardice. Al- 
ready the Indians, encouraged by their success and 
Hull’s cowardice, have lost the fear with which Harri- 
son’s victory at Tippecanoe inspired them, and are 
now preparing to raid, to rob, murder, and plunder 
all our frontier settlements. The Indian war-whoop 
will this winter mingle with the howl of the wolves 
and the scream of the panther from the Straits of 
Mackinac to Sandusky Bay, and from the Great Lakes 
to the Mississippi. What protection have we now 
against the savage hordes, stirred to frenzy by the 
eloquence and cunning of the Prophet, as he styles 
himself, and the skill of his brother, Tecumseh? The 
Prophet has already impressed the savages with a 
belief that they are engaged in a holy war, and that 
the Great Spirit has ordered them to rob, murder, kill, 
and exterminate the White Faces from the land. This 
false prophet tells the savages that it was the Great 


War of 1812 


63 


Spirit who put the heart of the doe into the white wolf. 
Our ancestors in old Holland trembled when the wild, 
mad storm-wind swept in fury over the ocean, and 
the foam-crested waves dashed against the embank- 
ment that held in check the wrathful waters. With 
us the embankments are already broken. The forts 
that protected us from the Indians are destroyed. A 
horde of savages, wilder and more cruel than the re- 
lentless waves of old ocean, are sweeping down upon 
us. Besides, the moral aspects of the war have 
changed. We are no longer fighting for conquest; for 
glory. It is no longer a question between Napoleon 
and England, between Christianity and infidelity in 
Europe. It is a contest for our national existence. 
Already the English claim all the great Northwest. 
Proctor, the English commander, has declared Michi- 
gan to be a British province. Already England has 
absolute control of all the Great Lakes west of the 
Niagara River, and is now threatening Buffalo, Erie, 
and Cleveland. The cause of human freedom through- 
out the world is at issue. If we fail, if we are crushed 
because of internal dissension, it will sound the death- 
knell of all republics throughout the world. The 
Hand that marks the progress of humanity, of free- 
dom, and the rights of mankind, will turn backward 
a century on the dial-plate of time. We must buckle 
on the armor of the Lord, and, like Gideon of old, go 
forth to fight, not only in our country’s, but in free- 
dom’s cause, to conquer or to die. Mother, God has 
taken from us all our children except Henry and Ruth. 
They are good children. Our fondest hope, our 
brightest dream, has been to live to see this wilder- 


64 


With British and Braves 


ness, these woods and forests around us, transformed 
into fertile fields and farms, to see Henry and Ruth 
happily married, and see our declining years bright- 
ened by their prosperity, soothed by their love, and 
cheered by the prattle of our grandchildren. Mother, 
Henry wants to join General Harrison’s army, not 
simply as a soldier, but more. He wants to go as an 
Indian scout. Henry’s strength, endurance, and cour- 
age would make him valuable in that capacity. He 
wishes to associate himself with the great scout, Peter 
Navarre. Mother, can you let him go?” 

For a few moments there was silence. The sparks 
flew up the chimney, the October winds whistled 
through the trees, and in the distance could be heard 
the dull rumbling of storm-tossed Lake Erie. The 
silence within was scarcely broken by the suppressed 
and almost inaudible sobs which came from the heart 
of the mother. Mrs. Wright did not shed a tear. 
Her feelings were too intense, her sorrow too great. 
It dried the fountains of the heart before they left 
their source. She looked at the fire; but did not see 
the sparks. She listened; but did not hear the wind 
or rumbling of the waters. The fire was no longer a 
cheerful blaze, but a lurid flame. The logs had be- 
come fagots. The moaning of the wind and the 
rumbling of the lake had become savage war-cries. 
She saw her son a captured scout, a tortured prisoner. 
The flames were consuming his limbs and his mother’s 
heart. 

Mr. Wright looked at his wife as she gazed so 
wildly into the fire, and saw in her face, and felt in her 
silence the intensity of her feelings, and divined her 


War of 1812 


65 


thoughts. Rising quickly from his seat, he said, “O, 
mother, I have been talking too much of what I have 
been thinking to-day.” He bent over and kissed his 
wife so tenderly, that the kiss dispelled her terrible 
vision and unsealed her pent-up tears, and she wept 
as only a sorrowing mother can. While her husband, 
realizing that he had, in speaking his own thoughts, 
perhaps unnecessarily alarmed the mother’s heart, and 
while usually a blunt man with but little tact, his love 
for his wife told him that he had been unwise, if not 
cruel, in speaking of the dangers of the life of an In- 
dian scout, and he spoke bravely and cheerfully: “We 
must remember, mother, in Henry’s case the dangers 
will be less than they usually are. Henry never misses 
his aim. He has an eye like a hawk, and an ear as 
quick and accurate as a deer’s, and he can outrun any 
Indian. Besides, there is a God on high that will 
watch over him, and defend him in his contest against 
heathen savages. Do not tremble so, mother; Henry 
will never be an Indian captive.” 

This recital of Henry’s abilities, the relieving effect 
of her copious tears, had almost a magic effect upon 
Mrs. Wright. It is so easy to convince a mother of 
the great ability and prowess of her son. Besides, 
Mrs. Wright had, in a special degree, two marked 
characteristics — confidence in her husband, and faith 
and reliance upon the justice, power, and providence 
of God. She gazed at her husband a moment, and he 
looked so sad and thoughtful, that in an instant she 
was changed from a timid mother to a true heroine. 
She felt as though her husband needed her strength 
and courage; and, looking through her tears, she said: 

5 


66 


With British and Braves 


'‘Yes, father, you are right. Henry, I hope, will come 
back safe; and if not, it is God’s will, and we must not 
oppose it. He wishes to go, and we must not stand 
in the path of his duty. But how about Ruth? She 
wants to go to Cleveland, to act as a nurse for the 
sick and wounded soldiers there? That seems to me 
a dreadful thing for a young girl to do; still she may 
be able to do great good.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Wright; “I have thought of this 
matter very carefully, and I am convinced that it is 
no feeling of sentimental fancy or love for Dinsmore 
that prompts her action, but a sense of duty. The 
temptations and dangers of a young girl alone among 
strangers and far away from home, surrounded by a 
lot of soldiers, some of them profligate and immoral, 
would usually be very great; but not so with Ruth. 
Ruth may have some feeling for Dinsmore; but this 
will not influence her conduct. She will care, I be- 
lieve, for every wounded and sick soldier alike. Duty, 
not pleasure, will actuate and control her actions. She 
has, as you know, mother, great natural skill as a 
nurse, and I believe that many a poor fellow, who 
without a woman’s nursing would die in the hospital, 
will, by Ruth’s kindness, skill, and care, be nursed 
back into life and usefulness, and that many a mother 
will some day call Ruth blessed when her soldier boy 
returns. If you are willing, mother, I am; and may 
God bless her efforts!” 

“Just as you say,” replied Mrs. Wright. “It seems 
dreadful for Ruth to go; but if it is best, if it is God’s 
will, I will not object.” 

Just then Henry and Ruth returned from their 


War of 1812 


67 


uncle’s, and were informed of their parents’ decision, 
and both received many parental blessings and ad- 
monitions. Before retiring, the father asked for God’s 
protecting care over his children, who were soon to 
go forth from the parental home to meet both the 
dangers and temptations of cruel war. 

I have given somewhat in detail Mr. and Mrs. 
Wright’s views and feelings, because they were shared 
by very many others at that time. 

One of the immediate effects of Hull’s surrender 
was to awaken in the Northwest a spirit of patriotism 
before unknown. From almost every part of Ohio 
and Kentucky poured forth a stream of volunteers. 
‘‘So great was the number, and so strong their ardor, 
that it became necessary to repress, rather than ex- 
cite, this spirit in this section of the country,” says a 
historian of those times. Here was unanimity, all 
united in one cause. If this spirit had pervaded the 
Union, it would have given a very different complexion 
to the events of the war. William Henry Harrison, by 
a sort of general consent, assumed command of all the 
Western troops, although he was only governor of 
Indiana, and not an officer in the United States army. 
He was, however, soon commissioned, and given su- 
preme command. He gathered together 2,500 men 
at Urbana, Ohio, and on the 5th of September started 
for Fort Wayne. Flushed with success, the British 
and Indians not only had possession of Michigan and 
all the Great Lakes west of Niagara; but had started 
on a campaign of conquest into Indiana. We had lost 
so much territory that Fort Wayne was our most 
important frontier post in the Northwest. 


68 


With British and Braves 


Harrison reached Fort Wayne September 12th; 
but so great was the terror of his name, that the In- 
dians fled before he arrived, and the British, being 
too few to cope with him alone, retreated to Fort De- 
fiance. 

The Indians, while depending chiefly upon the pur- 
suit of game for obtaining food, raised, through the 
labor of the squaws, considerable corn. Among the 
Indians the women did all the manual labor, the men 
the hunting and fighting. 

Harrison deemed it best, before proceeding to De- 
troit, first to disperse the hostile Indians, and show 
them that they could not rely upon British protection, 
which General Proctor, the British commander, had 
promised them, and that it would be better policy to 
make peace with the Americans. 

Accordingly, he divided his forces, sending one de- 
tachment north to the Indian villages on the river 
St. Joseph, in the southwestern part of Michigan, and 
another to the Indian towns on the Wabash River. 
So rapid and successful were the movements of these 
divisions, that before the close of the month all of the 
principal villages had been destroyed in both of these 
districts, and most of the corn cut down, Harrison 
believing that if he could deprive the Indians of their 
means of sustenance, he could more easily induce them 
to make peace with the Americans. General Win- 
chester, who was second in command, started, on the 
22d of September, with about two thousand men, in- 
cluding a detachment of cavalry, from Fort Wayne 
to Fort Defiance, where the town of Defiance, Ohio, 
is now located, Harrison returning to St. Mary’s, in 


War of 1812 69 

Ohio, to forward to Fort Defiance supplies for his 
army. 

The march to Defiance was exceedingly slow. The 
army was not only beset by hostile Indians at every 
step, and obliged to keep scouts out in every direc- 
tion so as to avoid ambuscades, but the country was 
covered with a dense forest. There was not a single 
settlement between Fort Wayne and Defiance. Every 
night the camp was fortified by throwing around it a 
temporary breastwork of brush and logs, so that fre- 
quently the progress was not more than six miles a 
day. A short distance from Defiance the army halted, 
and erected a blockhouse before proceeding to attack 
the fort. About the ist of October, General Harrison, 
with a fresh body of troops under Colonel Jennings, 
joined Winchester's forces, and preparations were 
made for an immediate attack upon Fort Defiance; 
but on the approach of Harrison the fort was evacu- 
ated, and the British and Indians fled down the river. 

On the 4th of October, Harrison, having by his al- 
most uninterrupted march to Fort Defiance, and the 
surrender of that place without resistance, been 
strengthened in his belief that he could soon retake 
Detroit, and wipe out the disgrace of Hull’s surrender, 
returned to Fort St. Mary’s, with the view of organiz- 
ing and bringing up the center of his army. 

Before leaving Defiance, Harrison ordered General 
Tupper to proceed with one thousand men to Maumee, 
and drive the enemy from there; but insubordination 
broke out in Tupper ’s troops. A serious misunder- 
standing arose between General Winchester and Gen- 
eral Tupper, and the attack was abandoned. 


70 


With British and Braves 


Nothing more could be done either against Mau- 
mee or Detroit until the arrival of Harrison with the 
rest of his army. Events of considerable importance 
were in the meanwhile taking place farther West. 

- A relatively large army had been gathered together 
at Vincennes, Indiana, under command of General 
Hopkins, to proceed against the Indians in South- 
western Indiana; but hardly had the campaign fairly 
begun before discontent and insubordination began 
to manifest itself. This army was composed chiefly of 
Kentucky militia, who claimed that no one had any 
authority to send them out of the State except by 
their consent, and who would not acknowledge the 
authority of the United States or General Hopkins. 
They soon became but little more than an ungovern- 
able mob, and finally defiantly refused to obey their 
commanding general; and against his express orders 
they turned back, leaving General Hopkins and a few 
United States soldiers to bring up the rear. About the 
same time, however, an event took place which bright- 
ened for a moment the tarnished luster of American 
arms. Fort Harrison was then in command of Captain 
Zachary Taylor. This fort was a weak stockade, and 
only garrisoned by about fifty men, some of them sick, 
and all nearly worn out and exhausted by watchful- 
ness, surrounded as they were by a sleepless, vigilant 
foe. While in this condition, with not half of his men 
fit for duty, an attack was made by a force of nearly 
five hundred Indians. It was made in the middle of 
the night. The Indians succeeeded, in their first onset, 
in firing one of the blockhouses, containing a large 
portion of Taylor’s supplies. 


War of 1812 


71 


Taking into account only the men who were fit for 
duty, the Indians numbered over twenty to one of the 
defenders ; but with a heroic determination to sell their 
lives as dearly as possible, and encouraged by the skill 
and valor of their commander, after a stubborn fight of 
six hours the little band succeeded in driving off the 
enemy with a great loss, for every shot meant a dead 
Indian. This heroic defense had a most disheartening 
effect upon the savages. They began to think again, 
as after the battle of Tippecanoe, that the Americans 
were invincible. 

Soon after the heroic defense of Fort Harrison, 
Captain Taylor was promoted, this victory being one 
of the first steps upward in a glorious career, that did 
not end until after the American people had conferred 
upon him the highest office in the gift of the Nation. 


Chapter IV 

A FEW days after the conversation between Mr. 
and Mrs. Wright, Ruth, with the prayers and loving 
advice of her parents, left home, for the first time, to 
go among strangers. Upon arriving at Cleveland she 
found the Hentzler home had been converted into a 
hospital, in which were about a dozen sick and 
wounded soldiers. Women nurses were then un- 
known, and the physician in charge, a kind-hearted 
but gruff man, at first absolutely refused to permit 
Ruth to act in any way or manner in the capacity of 
a nurse at the hospital; but Ruth was not easily dis- 
couraged. She secured a room at Mrs. Hentzler’s, 
who had a kind of womanly oversight of things at 
the hospital, and acted as her assistant. To this ar- 
rangement the doctor at last consented, principally 
because Mrs. Hentzler insisted upon having Ruth with 
her. But not many days elapsed before the physician, 
upon visiting his patients, would always send for Ruth 
to assist him — that is, if she happened to be absent; 
and one day he was heard to remark — a great con- 
cession for a physician in those days — ‘T believe the 
care and nursing of Miss Wright does the soldier boys 
about as much good as the medicine I give them;” 
and it was not long before Ruth was not only a recog- 
nized, but a prized and esteemed nurse at the hospital. 

Ruth was a natural nurse. Whenever she came 
into the sick-room, a smile of pleasure lit up the face 
72 


War of 1812 


73 


of every sick and suffering soldier. Poor fellows who 
could hardly turn or move, would follow her with 
their eyes, as some flowers turn continually toward 
the sun, as though from her presence they were re- 
ceiving the sunshine of health and strength. But 
there was one to whom her presence was like water to 
the thirsty traveler in the desert. The more she fre- 
quented Lieutenant Dinsmore’s sick-room, the more 
difficult it seemed for him to forego her presence. 
And while Ruth kindly and faithfully nursed all, it was 
easy to perceive that her smile was sweeter, and that 
there was more soul in her eyes when attending Dins- 
more. But notwithstanding her care, his recovery 
was slow. The exertion and excitement of his trip 
to Cleveland, combined with the malarial fever, re- 
tarded the healing of his wounds. 

A few evenings after Ruth’s departure, Mr. and 
Mrs. Wright were again sitting alone. They had been 
silent for some moments. 

Mr. Wright at length said: ‘T wish that Henry 
would return. Mother, we shall be very lonely to- 
morrow. While I do not blame him for his attach- 
ment to Charlotte — she is a splendid girl — yet I was 
in hopes he would spend his last evening at home.” 

“Yes, she is a dear, sweet girl,” answered Mrs. 
Wright; “but sometimes I wish Henry’s affections 
were placed elsewhere. She and Henry have been 
playmates and friends from childhood. Until lately I 
have tried to believe that his feelings for her were 
simply those of warm cousinly friendship; but there 
is no disguising the fact that in his case friendship is 
fast ripening into love.” 


74 


With British and Braves 


“There is no doubt of that/’ replied Mr. Wright; 
“but why do you say, mother, that you wish his affec- 
tions were placed elsewhere? Is not Charlotte a wo- 
man worthy of any young man, even of our Henry?” 

“Charlotte is a most estimable girl; but I have my 
misgivings. I sometimes fear that she is a little fickle; 
and, strange as it may seem, I am almost forced to 
believe that in her heart she has more love for that 
young Canadian, Hastings, whom she met at school, 
than she has for Henry; and, besides, I do not believe 
in the marriage of cousins.” 

“I never could see any harm in that; and as for 
Hastings, that is nothing more than a little sentimental 
romance. Charlotte has already forgotten him. She 
is too good and patriotic a girl to love an enemy of 
her country. Besides, his disgraceful, cowardly, and 
even criminal conduct at the time Henry came so 
near being hugged to death by the bear in the woods, 
ought to disgust any girl of Charlotte’s spirit and 
good sense.” 

“It is that very event which has confirmed me in 
my opinion,” replied Mrs. Wright. “Once when I was 
visiting at Uncle Charles’s we were speaking of that 
affair, and Henry’s narrow escape and Hastings’s cow- 
ardly or cruel conduct, when Charlotte spoke up with 
more warmth than usual for her, and said: T do not 
believe it is fair, even if Hastings is a Canadian and 
one of our enemies, to accuse him either of cowardice 
or cruelty until you have heard his explanation of his 
conduct. He certainly did not act like a coward when 
he met Lieutenant Dinsmore in a personal conflict. 
Any man who is willing to meet Lieutenant Dinsmore 


War of 1812 


75 


in a life-and-death struggle, would not be afraid of a 
bear/ She was about to say more, when suddenly, 
as if fearing she had betrayed a secret, she blushed 
and stopped.” 

“I do not see much in that,” replied Mr. Wright. 
‘'She is one of those good souls that never speak ill 
of any one, and she would defend the Evil One him- 
self if she heard him too strongly accused in her pres- 
ence. She is too good and too sensible a girl to make 
even a comparison between Henry and Hastings.” 

“Yes, it would seem so,” said Mrs. Wright; “but 
girls are so queer sometimes. It was not the fact of 
Charlotte’s attempting to defend Hastings, but the 
tell-tale blush upon her face when she suddenly 
stopped talking about him, that made me believe as 
I do.” 

At this moment Henry returned, and the conver- 
sation changed. After some miscellaneous talk, Mr. 
Wright said to Henry: “To-morrow you will leave us. 
We shall miss you more than you can realize. We 
believe you are actuated by a high sense of duty; that 
you do not go to war because you love bloodshed, 
or for glory and military renown, but because you 
believe that your country, humanity, and God demand 
it. Remember always, my son, that there are two 
kinds of bravery. One is simply brute courage; the 
other is intellectual and moral determination. A per- 
son may have brute courage, and often does, when he 
is in reality a coward. A bull-dog, a prize-fighter, a 
gladiator, has simply brute courage, which often is 
merely the ability to endure a great amount of phys- 
ical pain without yielding; but this is not real courage. 


76 


With British and Braves 


The Indian has this kind of courage, which he stimu- 
lates by working himself into excitement and rage 
by wild and often hideous yells before entering into 
a conflict. The truly brave man is often a physical 
coward, who flinches from pain and needless danger.” 

Thus the good father conversed with his son the 
night before he left to engage in the perilous duties of 
an Indian scout. 

The next morning before daylight Henry bade his 
father and mother an affectionate good-bye, and, with 
a small pack on his back, set out for Fort Stephenson. 
He started early, for he had a long journey before him 
through an almost unbroken forest. He had deter- 
mined to reach the fort that day. After he had pro- 
ceeded about half a mile, and just as it was getting 
fairly daylight in the openings, although the shades of 
night were still lingering in the woods, he stopped 
before his uncle’s house, which lay in his route, and 
began to whistle a then popular air in the new settle- 
ments, commencing with the words, “My sweet girl 
is a bonnie lass that rises with the lark.” In a few 
moments Charlotte emerged from the house, and, com- 
ing out to the road, greeted Henry with a sweet, affec- 
tionate smile, and extended her hand, which he warmly 
grasped. After some conversation, he put his arms 
around her — he had never done such a thing before — 
and held her for a few moments, while her arm rested 
gently on his shoulder, and each kissed the other an 
affectionate good-bye. As he proceeded on his way 
he would occasionally turn, and watch her retreating 
form, and twice as he did so, she was also looking 
back, and each waved the other farewell. 


War of 1812 


77 


There was something in that embrace, that sweet 
farewell kiss, that seemed to him much more than 
cousinly ; something that fired his soul, and made him 
happy as he journeyed through the woods. 

He reached the fort before nightfall, and was cor- 
dially greeted by the commandant, who was awaiting 
his arrival; for at that period great dependence was 
placed upon skillful scouts. 

In order better to understand Henry’s duties, we 
ought to look for a moment into the general events 
of the war in the Northwest. I have already spoken 
of the capture of the Indian villages in Indiana and 
along the St. Joseph River in Michigan, and the tak- 
ing of Fort Defiance, the driving back of the British, 
who were assisting the Indians, to the rapids of the 
Maumee, and the unsuccessful attack upon that place. 
Harrison had said that he would retake Detroit before 
snow fell; but the unfortunate misunderstanding be- 
tween Generals Winchester and Tupper, and the re- 
treat from the Rapids of Maumee, necessarily de- 
layed his plans, and Harrison saw before him the 
necessity of a winter campaign; but he was not the 
man to shrink from obstacles. 

At this day we can scarcely realize the difficulties 
he had to encounter. His operations were necessarily 
both offensive and defensive. A frontier hundreds of 
miles in extent, facing a wilderness filled with hostile 
savages supported by British troops, must at all haz- 
ards be protected from the hatchet, the knife, and the 
torch of the midnight marauder. Besides, before he 
could attack Detroit it was necessary to build a road 
for the transportation of men and supplies through the 


78 


With British and Braves 


lowlands of the Maumee, then known as the Black 
Swamp. Through this swamp roads had to be cut, 
streams bridged, and blockhouses built for the care of 
the sick and the protection of supplies. All this had 
to be done with undisciplined troops, surrounded and 
harassed by prowling savages. While thus engaged 
in making preparations for the recovery of Detroit, 
Harrison sent forward General Tupper upon a second 
expedition against Maumee. 

Henry was ordered to report to General Tupper 
at that place. He was sent across the river to ascer- 
tain the strength of the enemy. It was a perilous duty; 
but he successfully evaded both the British and In- 
dians, and returned, reporting the enemy about one 
thousand strong, three hundred being British regulars. 
General Tupper attempted to ford the river ; but found 
the water so high and so cold (it being about the 
middle of November) that the attack was abandoned. 
The following day, however, an apparently more per- 
sistent attack was made in the face of the enemy; but 
at length the Americans fell back in great disorder, 
and hastily retreated into the forest. This ruse was 
successful, and the British and Indians crossed the 
river to attack the retreating Americans ; but they had 
not followed them far, when their savage yells of tri- 
umph were turned to cries of defeat. The Indians 
fought with great courage for a few moments, when, 
seeing the British begin to retreat, they fled in great 
confusion and disorder. With Indians, or any body of 
men having only brute courage, a retreat usually be- 
comes a rout. 

The Indians, who had rushed to battle with great 


War of 1812 


79 


impetuosity, when defeated fled in such disorder and 
fear that, when they reached the river, they plunged 
into its swollen and icy waters with such reckless 
abandon that most of them were shot or drowned be- 
fore reaching the opposite shore. It was at this con- 
flict that the great chief. Split- Log, made himself con- 
spicuous by his skill and bravery, and Henry secured 
the gun that afterwards, in his hands, did such signal 
service. 

When the Americans retreated into the forest in 
apparent confusion, Henry and a few Kentucky sharp- 
shooters remained behind, concealed near the bank 
of the river, a short distance above the point where the 
crossing of the British and Indians was made. Quite 
a number of the Indians were mounted on horses. 
Henry noticed Split-Log, who was conspicuous, not 
only by his bearing and the unusually fine gray horse 
which he rode, but by the fact that he seemed to be 
more implicitly obeyed than Indian leaders usually 
are. As a rule, there is little or no discipline among 
the Indians, and the authority of the chiefs is very lim- 
ited. When the Americans turned upon their pur- 
suers, the conflict was for a short time severe and 
bloody. The Americans’ attack was both unexpected 
and impetuous; but the Indians, confident of victory, 
rushed into the conflict, making the woods echo with 
their savage war-cries. During this struggle Split- 
Log would spring from the back of his horse, which 
would remain by his side, take aim, and fire, and 
then remounting, ride through his forces and urge 
them on to the conflict. Twice when the Indians were 
wavering, he succeeded in rallying them; but at length 


8o 


With British and Braves 


they broke and fled in great confusion to the bank 
of the river. Unable to check their retreat, Split-Log 
sprang upon his horse, and rode with great speed to 
the edge of the river, near the ford where the crossing 
had been made. He outrode his retreating command; 
but no sooner had he reached the bank than, with a 
coolness and military genius worthy of any of the 
world’s great commanders, he sprang from his horse, 
gave a loud war-whoop, and running towards the flee- 
ing Indians, turned back the first he met, and they in 
turn checked the others, until he had nearly succeeded 
in stopping the rout. At this critical moment Henry’s 
gun rang out, and Split-Log, with a cry of pain, 
dropped his rifle and fell to the ground. 

This shot, coming so suddenly from an unexpected 
quarter, combined with the fall of their chief, com- 
pletely broke the rallying courage of the savages, and 
they fled to the river in still greater confusion; but 
not until they had, with great quickness and dexterity, 
placed their wounded leader upon his horse, thus en- 
abling him to escape to plague and harass by his 
skill, bravery, and cunning, the Americans in many a 
future battle; but Henry captured his rifle, which was 
found to be one of the very best of English make, hav- 
ing been presented to Split-Log by a British officer. 

After the termination of this conflict, Tupper was 
unable to follow up his victory for lack of provisions. 
The roads had become, by reason of the heavy rains, 
almost impassable; and after waiting until only one 
day’s provisions were left, Tupper was compelled to 
retreat, carrying with him the wounded, twenty-seven 



Gen. William H. Harrison. 








War of 1812 


81 


of whom were borne on stretchers through the woods 
to Fort McArthur, a distance of forty miles. Thus 
ended the second attempt to take the British position 
at the rapids of the Maumee. 

However, the expedition was not entirely barren 
of results; for, fearing another attack, and disheartened 
by the loss of so many men, the British and Indians 
retreated to Malden, without venturing even to secure 
their corn, the harvesting of which, owing to the vari- 
ous conflicts along the Maumee, had been delayed. 
But, though the necessary retreat of Tupper was dis- 
couraging, Harrison only made the greater efforts 
to push along his campaign and recapture Detroit. 
While planning an early attack upon Detroit and Mal- 
den, he learned that Tecumseh was gathering together 
a large force of Indians in Southern Indiana, and 
knowing that the dangers of an attack upon the British 
would be greatly increased if he left a hostile Indian 
force in his rear, he sent, in the latter part of Novem- 
ber, a considerable force to subdue that chief. The 
expedition was largely successful, for while Tecumseh 
was not captured, as he eluded his pursuers, the In- 
dians were punished, several towns destroyed, and 
the Indian confederacy, which had been the great ob- 
ject of Tecumseh's ambition, was broken up. 

By the latter part of December, Harrison had gath- 
ered together an army of about six thousand men. 
The Indians having been dispersed or driven to the 
British camp, Harrison was ready to move against 
Malden. Winchester was ordered to proceed down 
the river to the Maumee Rapids, and there commence 
6 


82 


With British and Braves 


the erection of log huts, as though intending to win- 
ter at that place ; but, while building the huts, to make 
preparation for an attack upon Malden. 

During this time Dinsmore had watched Ruth day 
by day, as only a lover can. Some days he would feel 
happy; for there was, he thought, something in Ruth’s 
looks and actions that spoke love plainer than words 
could. Again he would think, “It is her true patriot- 
ism, her devotion to her country’s soldiers, and not 
her feelings to me individually, that makes her so 
kind and tender to me.” At times he was on the point 
of proclaiming his love; but the opportunities were 
scarce, and his courage failed. He finally said to him- 
self: “She admires the brave. I will first show her that 
I am a brave man. I will join Winchester’s com- 
mand.” The day before he left Cleveland he went 
over to Mrs. Hentzler’s, to bid Matthew and his 
mother good-bye. He had bidden them both good-bye 
twice; but still did not go, when at length Ruth en- 
tered the room. After some little general conversa- 
tion, Hentzler and his mother withdrew, and for over 
an hour Ruth and Dinsmore chatted together. Some- 
times Ruth’s merry laugh would fill the room, and 
again, as Dinsmore spoke of leaving, her face grew 
sad and thoughtful, and she said: “I suppose it is 
your duty to go; but it makes me feel sad to have 
you leave, and expose yourself, not only to the dangers 
of war, but to the inclemency of our cold Northern 
winters. You will meet Henry at Maumee, and I am 
going to send him a letter by you, and tell him to take 
a brotherly care of you.” She thought in an instant 
how this remark might sound, and added quickly: “I 


War of 1812 


83 


suppose, as comrades engaged in a common cause, you 
will all be brothers, and I want to add one thing more. 
I know that you will be brave, and ready to perform 
any duty that may devolve upon you; but for my sake 
do not expose yourself to unnecessary danger.” Thus 
they talked as lovers often do, their bashful tongues 
only hinting of love; but their eyes, more bold, spoke 
it plainly, until at length, as he was about to leave, he 
bent over and kissed her, holding her for a moment in 
his arms, while she blushed, not with anger or shame, 
but with a feeling of happiness. It was love’s first 
joyous, happy kiss. 


Chapter V 

A FEW days later Dinsmore reported to General 
Winchester for duty. As he had been under Hull, 
and was technically included in the general parole, 
there was no command for him, and at his request he 
was attached to Winchester’s command as a sharp- 
shooter and scout. Henry had also reported to Win- 
chester for duty, and this arrangement threw Dins- 
more, Henry, and the celebrated Indian scout, Peter 
Navarre, together very frequently. On the 13th of 
January, 1813, General Winchester received word 
from the inhabitants of Frenchtown, on the river 
Raiein (now Monroe, Michigan), begging him to come 
to their assistance, as they were in great fear of. an 
early attack from the British and Indians. 

On the 17th, Colonel Lewis, with six hundred men, 
started for Frenchtown. They marched down the 
east side of the Maumee, to what is now known as 
Presque Isle, just below Toledo, where they camped 
for the night. During the night Lewis received word 
that a considerable force of British and Indians had 
taken Frenchtown. The weather was very cold, and 
early in the morning Lewis, with his command, 
marched across the frozen Maumee Bay. On this 
glassy bridge they moved silently and rapidly, and 
were within five miles of the enemy before they were 
discovered. A short distance from the enemy’s lines 
they halted, hastily partook of some food, and then at 


War of 1812 


85 


once proceeded to the attack. Upon reaching the river 
Raisin, which was frozen solid, the command was 
given to charge across. 

No sooner had the Americans appeared upon the 
river, than they were met with a murderous fire of 
musketry; but they rushed gallantly across, charged 
the stockade behind which the British and Indians 
were fighting, and drove them back into the woods. 
In the woods the enemy rallied and fought desper- 
ately, slowly retreating, but contesting every foot of 
the ground, so that the conflict lasted from three 
o'clock until dark. At length the victory of the Ameri- 
cans was complete, and, after driving the enemy back 
two miles into the woods, they returned to the village, 
and took possession of the camp occupied the previous 
night by the British. That night, although Henry 
had been on the march the greater part of the day, he 
was sent back to General Winchester's camp at Mau- 
mee, to inform him of Colonel Lewis's victory, and 
also with a request to send re-enforcements. Although 
the distance by the route he was compelled to take 
was thirty-five miles, Henry arrived at Winchester's 
camp early the next morning.* The news of Lewis's 
victory was received with great joy in Winchester's 
camp. The road was now open to Malden. 

Leaving a part of his force to defend the rapids 
of the Maumee, Winchester started that same day 
for Frenchtown, arriving there January 20th. On the 
morning of the 21st, Peter Navarre and Henry were 
sent towards Malden, which was only about eighteen 


* Histories do not mention Henry’s name, but simply speak of him 
as a scout. 


86 


With British and Braves 


miles distant, to ascertain whether there was any in- 
dication of an attack by the British. They had pro- 
ceeded but a few miles when they met an acquaint- 
ance of Navarre’s, who had just escaped from Malden. 
He informed the scouts that Proctor was planning an 
immediate attack upon Frenchtown. The scouts re- 
turned, and so reported to Winchester; but he thought 
they were frightened by the idle tale of the escaped 
prisoner. Winchester selected a camp, and said the 
next day he would fortify it. Fatal delay. He never 
fortified his camp. If he had done so, the bloodiest 
page in the history of the War of 1812, if not of our 
whole history, would not have been written as it is; 
a page that will ever remain a foul blot upon English 
arms; a page that, like Lady Macbeth’s “damned 
spot,” will not out. 

General Winchester not only made no preparation 
for defense; but, with an unaccountable negligence, 
divided his forces, part being under Colonel Lewis 
in the stockade taken from the British, and part in 
camp a short distance from them, while he and his 
staff took up quarters for the night at a farmhouse 
about one-half mile distant. He also neglected to 
deal out a sufficient supply of ammunition. 

The stockade, of which I have spoken, was an in- 
closure made of puncheons or poles split in halves, 
sharpened and driven into the ground, and erected 
by the inhabitants of Frenchtown as a protection 
against the Indians. Winchester and his staff, without 
any apprehension of danger, passed the night in sound 
sleep. Colonel Lewis was more apprehensive, and 
doubled his pickets; but sent out no scouts. Navarre 


War of 1812 


87 


alone seemed aware of danger. About an hour before 
daylight he felt a presentiment of coming danger, and, 
arousing Henry and Dinsmore, the three started out 
of the stockade. The night was intensely cold. All 
within the stockade were sleeping soundly. The pick- 
ets reported all quiet. The scouts listened; all was 
still. Winchester’s force outside the stockade were all 
in deep slumber save a few pickets. 

At this moment a pack of wolves began to howl 
in the edge of the surrounding forest, and Dinsmore 
said, “There can’t be any one approaching, or the 
wolves would not be howling so near us.” 

“I do n’t know,” replied Henry; “that sound alarms 
me.” 

“Yes,” said Navarre, “I fear those are two-legged 
wolves, and they will gnaw our bones before long if 
we are not watchful. If Winchester had not made 
light of my alarm, I would now awaken the camp ; but 
I dislike to run the danger of giving a false alarm.” 

The howling of the wolves ceased. The scouts 
listened; all was quiet. Navarre dropped down, placed 
his ear to the ground, but could hear nothing save a 
slight moaning of the winter wind in the tree-tops. 
Suddenly they heard the cry of a panther — that cry so 
human, and yet so inhuman; so like a human being 
in distress ; so like a ferocious beast in rage, as to raise 
when heard in the forest, emotions both of sympathy 
and fear. Navarre again dropped to the ground, and 
listened. He rose quickly, and said: “We must give 
the alarm. That is no real panther.” * Hardly had 

*Our histories give no account of this incident, but Peter Navarre 
often related it as a fact. 


88 


With British and Braves 


he spoken before the dark forest resounded on all sides 
with wild yells and savage war-whoops, followed im- 
mediately by a shower of musket-balls and cannister- 
shot from several pieces of British ordnance, and a 
furious charge of British regulars and painted savages. 

The sounds and shot fell upon the sleeping and 
startled camp with appalling suddenness. The camp 
awoke amid the roar of cannon, the cracking of mus- 
kets, and the yells of savages. The character and 
number of the assailants were unknown. All was 
mystery save the deadly shot, which were fast redden- 
ing the snow with life-blood, and covering the ground 
with the wounded, dying, and dead. Those who were 
in the open field were, by the suddenness of the attack, 
separated; a part fleeing across the river Raisin, and 
a part retreating towards the stockade, in which was 
Lewis’s command. At the first sound of battle Win- 
chester bravely hastened to the scene of conflict, and 
heroically but vainly tried to rally his retreating troops. 
The British and Indians surrounded and shot them 
down like beasts, the savages scalping them as fast as 
they fell. Many a poor fellow fell amid the gloom 
and frost of that early morning hour only slightly 
wounded; but to be scalped and left to freeze in his 
own blood by a foe as heartless as the frozen earth. 
At one place, in a spot not more than three hundred 
feet square, over one hundred brave Kentuckians, the 
flower of Kentucky’s youth, soon lay scalped and 
dying. 

It was a conflict of extermination. Winchester 
and Colonel Lewis, who had left the stockade in the 
vain hope of stemming the defeat, were taken prison- 


War of 1812 


89 


ers, and stripped of their clothing, except shirt, panta- 
loons, and boots, and in this plight taken to Proctor, 
the British commander. While part of the British and 
Indians were slaughtering those who retreated towards 
the stockade, others followed those who fled across 
the river, and nearly every one was overtaken, killed, 
and scalped. 

Having practically annihilated that part of the 
army outside of the stockade, the enemy concentrated 
its attack upon the stockade, now under the command 
of Major Madison. The British, and the Indians under 
Split-Log, Walk-in-the- Water, and Roundhead, 
charged furiously; but so accurate and deadly was the 
aim of those behind the stockade (it being now day- 
light, and this command was composed largely of 
Kentucky sharpshooters) that each time the attack 
was repulsed with great loss to the British and In- 
dians. Especially deadly was the work of Navarre, 
Dinsmore, and Henry, who stood side by side in one 
corner of the stockade, and as often as the crack of 
one of their rifles was heard, one of the foe fell. At 
length the British brought into action three three- 
pounders and one Howitzer; but these sharpshooters 
first shot the horses attached to the sled bringing for- 
ward the ammunition, and then picked off thirteen of 
the artillerymen, causing part of the guns to be aban- 
doned and one withdrawn to such a distance that it 
ceased to be effective.* 

At ten o’clock, after five hours of desperate fight- 
ing, Proctor drew off his forces, apparently awaiting 

History simply says some sharpshooters did this, without giving 
their names 


90 


With British and Braves 


the return of those who had followed the fleeing 
Americans across the river. When the assailants with- 
drew, the Americans quietly breakfasted, ready to re- 
new the struggle, if necessary. While eating, a flag 
of truce was sent to Major Madison, borne by one of 
Winchester’s captured staff, and a British officer with 
a letter from Winchester to Madison, ordering an un- 
conditional surrender of all the troops. Proctor had 
dishonorably taken advantage of Winchester’s po- 
sition to extort that order from him. Winchester had 
seen the heartless slaughter of nearly every man out- 
side of the stockade. The cruel Proctor, who was in 
reality urging the savages on in their bloody work, 
and actually paying a bounty for scalps, told Win- 
chester that if the Americans continued their hopeless 
resistance, he feared his Indian allies would become 
uncontrollable, and massacre all who were captured; 
but that if the Americans surrendered, they would be 
protected, and their wounded kindly treated. 

When Madison received Winchester’s orders, he 
hesitated, denying Winchester’s authority as a pris- 
oner to give orders. Peter Navarre, upon whose head 
Proctor had set a price, warned Madison of Proctor’s 
cruelty and perfidy. Madison then held a personal 
interview with Proctor, and received from him assur- 
ances of kind treatment and protection for the Ameri- 
cans if they surrendered. Upon receiving these 
assurances, and fearing that continued successful re- 
sistance would be impossible, Madison surrendered. 

During these negotiations Henry had been closely 
watching the British officer who accompanied the flag 
of truce, while his eyes assumed that peculiar, almost 


War of 1812 


91 


glistening gray that with him denoted intense feeling. 
“I will never surrender to Hastings,” (for the British 
officer was none other,) said Henry; “I would rather 
die fighting.” 

“I will never surrender to Proctor,” said Navarre. 

“I do not think that we, as prisoners of war, will 
be in any danger of our lives,” said Dinsmore. 

“I do not believe in exposing ourselves to any un- 
necessary danger, and if there is any hope of escaping 
I will join you, for as scouts a surrender does not 
bind us.” 

“Wright and I can escape, I believe, for we can 
outrun Roundhead himself,” replied Navarre; “but no 
time must be lost. Do you see those dead Indians but 
a short distance from the stockade? Let each one of 
us bring one of them into the inclosure. In a few 
moments we can so disguise ourselves that only a 
close scrutiny will reveal the fact that we are not In- 
dians. Quick!” No sooner said than each bore a 
dead Indian into the stockade. This act was noticed 
by the British; but they supposed they were bearing 
in some fallen comrades. “It is fortunate,” observed 
Navarre, “that one of these savages wears boots, for 
the British must have furnished other Indians with 
them, and our tracks will not betray us.” 

Each man then placed upon his head a hideous 
Indian cap with long feathers, and drew on a loose 
fur jacket, with which each Indian had been clothed. 
Navarre then pulled out of his pocket a small tin-cup, 
put into it some brownish powder, and then some 
water. He then stirred the water for a moment, 
poured a little of the mixture upon his hands, and 


92 


With British and Braves 


washed them and his face with it. The others did the 
same. 

“We have now the color of the Indians, but not 
their fearful war-paint,” said Dinsmore. 

“We will soon have that,” answered Navarre. He 
then took from his pocket a very small brush, and 
dipped it into the unused portion of the mixture he 
had just prepared. He then rubbed the brush over 
a spot of frozen blood upon one of the dead Indians, 
and drew several daubs across his own face, and then 
did the same by the others. But a few moments had 
elapsed, so quickly was all this done, before all were 
completely disguised as Indians, and bedaubed with 
horrid war-paint. 

It made Wright and Dinsmore involuntarily shud- 
der when this dreadful paint touched their faces; but 
neither said a word. 

“We can carry our pistols, knives, and guns; but 
not our blankets, for that would betray us, and we 
will not need them, for before to-morrow at this time 
we will either be at the Rapids, or the Indians will 
have our scalps,” said Navarre. A short distance from 
the stockade was a large log-house. 

The three disguised scouts, at a preconcerted sig- 
nal, dashed across the open space between the stockade 
and the house. Major Madison having been informed 
before the surrender of their plan, his men were or- 
dered to fire at the — to all appearances — fleeing sav- 
ages; but so to shoot as not to hit them. 

Split-Log, who was a wary chief, had his suspicions 
aroused ; but upon being informed that the Americans 
were about to surrender, they were allayed. Upon 


War of 1812 


93 


reaching the log house, the three scouts turned, and 
in full view deliberately proceeded down the river 
towards Malden, the British headquarters, and also 
towards a body of Indians who were coming from that 
direction. Before reaching the Indians, the scouts 
had to pass through a strip of thick woods. No sooner 
had they reached the woods, than Navarre, speaking 
low, said: “We must bear off towards Detroit, make 
a detour, and strike the lake at the mouth of the river, 
and thence across to Presque Isle. If the Indians fol- 
low us, we must run for our lives.” 

But the Indians, who were hurrying on to the 
battlefield, did not notice the scouts, so that they 
needed only to make a slight detour to the left; then 
turning to the right, they crossed the river Raisin 
about a mile below the battlefield, and about a half- 
mile from the outposts of the enemy. As they stepped 
out upon the river they could see the British flag wav- 
ing from the American camp. When they struck the 
ice on the river, Navarre said: “Let us follow up the 
river as though proceeding towards the camp, as we 
can be plainly seen, and if an alarm is given, as it may 
be, if we are seen leaving the battle-ground at this 
hour of victory, and going in the direction of Mau- 
mee, some of the British pickets and straggling In- 
dians may be on the other side of us, and we might 
run right into a hornet^s-nest of bullets.” 

Acting on this thought, and changing their original 
plan, they proceeded up the river, apparently towards 
the camp, as though taking the river on account of 
the walking being better. “If we can once get to the 
southeast of the enemy,” said Navarre, “we are prac- 


94 


With British and Braves 


tically safe, as there are neither British nor Indians 
in the direction of Maumee.” 

When nearly opposite the outposts of the British 
camp, they leisurely climbed up the bank of the river, 
and stepped into the woods on the farther side. Just 
as they entered the forest, savage yells broke out from 
the American camp. 

“O, my God!” exclaimed Henry, "‘you are right, 
Navarre; that inhuman wretch Proctor is giving the 
prisoners up to be massacred by the savages.” 

“It can not be possible,” said Dinsmore. 

“It is too true, and few will live to tell the tale of 
this day’s disaster,” replied Navarre; “but let us hurry 
along. There is no danger now of our being ob- 
served. The Indians are too delirious with rage and 
blood, and the British will pay no attention to some 
straggling Indians.” 

Passing along, they came upon the field where their 
comrades who had fled across the river had been sur- 
rounded, shot down, massacred, and scalped in the 
morning, and a more hideous and ghastly sight never 
met the eye of man. Over one hundred men lay dead, 
with their bare, scalped skulls freezing in the reddened 
snow, and these dead and mangled bodies were the 
horrible remains of some of the best and noblest of 
Kentucky’s sons I As the scouts left this bloody spec- 
tacle, they had to cross a narrow opening in the woods. 
Navarre looked back, stopped a moment, and almost 
involuntarily raised his rifle to his shoulder, then drop- 
ping it, he said: “No, let each of us pick out our man, 
and partially avenge the murder of our comrades.” 
Not more than five hundred feet from them stood three 


War of 1812 


95 


British officers, engaged apparently in an exciting 
conversation, and viewing, as the scouts thought, with 
indifference the slaughter of the defenseless prisoners. 
One of these officers was Hastings, and they saw him 
raise his hand over his head, and shake it in the air. 

“The wretch,'' said Henry; “he is urging on the 
savages in their fiendish slaughter. Let us mete out 
to them the punishment they deserve." 

Dinsmore seemed for a moment to be struggling 
with conflicting emotions; but he quickly and quietly 
said: “No; they deserve death; but let Heaven 
punish them. We, too, would be assassins to shoot 
them now; and besides, to kill them would not only 
endanger our own lives, but might also cause the 
death of some of our comrades whom the wretches 
may possibly spare." 

“You are right," replied the others, and lowering 
their guns, they turned away from the dreadful scene 
before them, and plunging into the forest, moved 
rapidly towards the Maumee. They proceeded in 
silence, each occupied with his own sad and gloomy 
thoughts. Nearly one thousand men among the 
bravest and best of Ohio’s and Kentucky’s youth had 
marched over this route but a short time before. Out 
of that one thousand, only thirty-three, all told, es- 
caped. Some were taken prisoners, and were after- 
wards exchanged; the rest reddened the snows of 
Frenchtown and the banks of the river Raisin with 
their life-blood, and most of them were not slain in 
honorable battle, but brutally murdered.* “O, blood- 


* There is some conflict as to how many were slain and how many 
taken prisoners. 


96 


With British and Braves 


iest picture in the book of time!” Certainly the blood- 
iest picture in the history of our country. 

For a long time this massacre was used to embitter 
the minds of the American people against the British; 
and there are hundreds of people living to-day who 
never even heard of this cruel slaughter, but who, 
from the bitter feelings then aroused, have imbibed 
from their ancestors a hatred of Great Britain. 

But while that conflict will always, where history 
is read, be a blot upon English arms, the British Gov- 
ernment, and certainly the English people, were not 
guilty of this great crime. Many of the British offi- 
cers protested manfully at the time, and some of the 
most bitter denunciations of Proctor’s inhuman con- 
duct have come from the pens and mouths of English 
and Canadians. As well might we charge, as unfor- 
tunately for the peace and good-will between the 
North and the South has been done, the cruelty of 
Wirz and some others at Andersonville and Libby 
prisons to the whole people of the South, to whom the 
cruel deeds there perpetrated are even more abhorrent 
than to the people of the North. 

But to return to the scouts. They had proceeded 
but a short distance when they struck a trail, a partly 
beaten path in the snow, marked by blood. They ex- 
amined it carefully. 

'‘There are some of our wounded comrades not far 
from here,” said Navarre. 

They followed the trail very cautiously for a few 
minutes, when Henry suddenly stopped, and said: 
“We are likely to be shot any moment, if the men 


War of 1812 


97 


whose trail we are following have strength enough 
to shoot, and have their arms.” 

‘‘Why so?” asked Dinsmore. 

“Are we not disguised as Indians?” answered 
Henry. “Self-preservation will compel these wounded 
men to shoot if they think we are following on their 
trail.” 

Acting upon this thought, each man removed his 
Indian jacket, cap, and feathers, and washing his face 
in the snow, partially succeeded in removing the In- 
dian color and war-paint. They then proceeded cau- 
tiously, still fearful of being shot by friends. After 
going about one-half mile they drew near a strip of 
woods thickly covered with bushes; but before get- 
ting too close to this underbrush they stopped, each 
hid behind a separate tree, and Dinsmore began to 
whistle softly a then familiar Kentucky air. He had 
whistled but a few strains when he was answered from 
a thicket just in front of them by a low whistle, which 
took up the air and carried it on. There was no mis- 
take; but still the scouts proceeded cautiously to the 
thicket. 

There behind an oak-tree sat four men, all who 
were left of that brave band that fought and died in 
the dusk of the morning, separated by the fatal mis- 
take of their commander from their comrades. One 
of these men, severely wounded, had escaped death 
and scalping because he was bald; two because they 
had fallen before daylight in the first onslaught, and 
in the darkness and first fury of the battle they had 
been passed by, and not afterward discovered. One, 
7 


98 


With British and Braves 


and the only one not wounded, owed his escape to a 
fall, in which he had rolled down the bank of the 
river, and, becoming covered with snow, by lying still 
he had not been noticed. The uninjured man had 
helped his wounded comrades on so far, and had 
kindled a small fire to warm them; but they had not 
tasted a mouthful of food since the evening before. 
Numb with cold, weak from loss of blood, and faint 
for want of food, the three wounded men had looked 
death calmly and bravely in the face. To march to 
the Rapids was impossible, to return to Frenchtown 
meant death and scalping, to remain where they were 
meant death either from hunger or cold, and they 
thought before another morning’s dawn they would 
serve to make a feast for some band of prowling 
wolves. They had each told their well comrade to 
leave them to a fate that he was powerless to avert, 
and save his own life ; but he would not abandon them. 
Twice at the risk of his own life he had returned to 
the battlefield, or, more correctly speaking, to the 
slaughter-field, and stripped the dead of clothing, the 
better to cover his wounded comrades, and protect 
their blood-drained bodies from the cold. Dinsmore 
pulled from his pocket a large flask, and gave each a 
liberal drink. The scouts then drew from their pock- 
ets some bread and dried venison, and offered it to 
the hungry men. 

One of the wounded men refused to take it, say- 
ing: ‘‘No; you will need all the food you have. For 
us to eat will only prolong our lives for a short time, 
and not help us in the end; while to take the food 


U, ef 0 


War of 1812 


99 


which you so generously offer will prevent you from 
escaping.” 

“O fie!” said Henry; ‘'none of you have deadly 
wounds. Cheer up, comrades; we will get you back 
to the Rapids some way, and you will all live to pay 
back these red savages and bloody British for this 
day’s service.” 

Thus encouraged, the four men ate heartily of the 
plain food so generously proffered. Henry and Na- 
varre stepped back, and engaged in a short thoughtful 
conversation. 

At the close of their consultation, Navarre stepped 
up to the wounded men, and carefully examined each. 
At the end of the investigation, he said: “Good; they 
are nothing but flesh wounds. Cheer up, boys; we will 
get you out of this all right.” 

Navarre and Henry then looked around, as though 
in search of some particular thing. Henry soon spied 
what he wanted, and, stepping up to a slim ash-sapling 
about four inches in diameter, climbed up it a number 
of feet, then swinging off from its trunk, but holding 
on to the top with his hands, he bent it to the ground. 
Navarre then applied his stout hunting-knife to the 
spot on the body of the sapling where the tension of 
the bending strain was the greatest, and soon severed 
the sapling. In the same manner five other saplings 
were soon cut. Henry and Navarre then cut a num- 
ber of pieces about three feet long. They then cut 
one of the fur Indian jackets they had thrown off into 
thongs, and soon firmly tied the cross-pieces to the 
saplings, which served as runners; and thus they had. 


lOO 


With British and Braves 


in the space of a couple of hours, with the assistance 
of Dinsmore and the uninjured man, improvised three 
sleds. On the cross-pieces of these sleds small 
branches of trees were first placed, then snow was 
packed over them to prevent them from hurting the 
wounded men, and on top of the snow were laid extra 
coats, and on each sled was placed a wounded man. 
Each well man, Navarre excepted, took a sled, and 
began to march towards the Rapids. Navarre would 
now go a little distance ahead, occasionally clearing 
out of the way some obstacle, and then drop behind to 
look, and listen to see and hear whether they were 
being followed. This method of travel was neces- 
sarily very slow, and when nightfall came they were 
only about five miles from Frenchtown. A fire was 
then built; for it was thought there was no danger 
of their being followed, and, besides, the wounded men 
could not endure the cold. 

They all ate very sparingly; for the provisions 
which the three who left the fort deemed sufficient for 
them, would soon be exhausted when divided among 
seven. During the night each of the sound men in 
his turn kept watch, not by the fire, but some distance 
back on their trail. In the morning they ate the last 
of their provisions, and at daybreak started on their 
journey. At about ten o’clock in the morning, to 
their great joy they met a body of men from the 
Rapids, whom Harrison had sent to assist Winchester. 
These troops were informed that it was too late now; 
that Winchester’s army, with the exception of a few 
who had escaped, were numbered with the dead. 
Upon receiving this mournful intelligence, the com- 


War of 1812 


lOI 


mand, with the exception of a few men who went for- 
ward to see if perhaps some escaped American could 
not still be found and rescued, returned to the Rapids. 

Harrison was greatly depressed by the events at 
French town; but not disheartened. He strengthened 
his position at the Rapids of Maumee, and at once de- 
vised a plan of capturing Malden, or at least destroy- 
ing the English war-vessels that were in winter quar- 
ters at that place. He sent a body of men across the 
ice to Middle Bass Island, with instructions to be in 
readiness (each man with his feet inclosed in moc- 
casins), and, on the evening of the day following their 
arrival at Middle Bass, to proceed during the night 
across the frozen lake so as to reach Malden before 
daybreak, and attack that place from an unexpected 
quarter. But unfortunately for Harrison’s plans, the 
day preceding the evening this expedition was to start, 
the wind suddenly shifted, became very strong, the ice 
broke up, and this attack had to be abandoned. Noth- 
ing more now could be done until spring. Harrison 
selected as the headquarters of his army, and the base 
from which to operate, a site near the Maumee River, 
and just above the present village of Perrysburg, and 
in honor of the governor of Ohio named it Fort 
Meigs. At this place Johnson Dinsmore tendered his 
services to General Harrison, and was sent by him to 
Kentucky to recruit a. company of sharpshooters. 


Chapter VI 

Before leaving for Kentucky, Dinsmore felt that 
he must see Ruth, and make a declaration of his love; 
but upon arriving at Cleveland he was greatly dis- 
appointed to learn that she had left for her home the 
day before. He was not merely disappointed, but 
perplexed at her action ; for he had written her of his 
intended visit. Mrs. Hentzler, however, informed him 
that Ruth would return in a few days. Accordingly, 
he waited, daily expecting her arrival. In the mean- 
time the weather became warmer and the roads very 
bad, and Dinsmore tried to believe that this was the 
cause of Ruth’s failure to return; but he often won- 
dered why she had left no word for him. In the mean- 
time, while in Cleveland, he found himself the object 
of many marked attentions. 

At that time the Kentuckians were generally lion- 
ized, for most of the fighting had been done by them. 
Besides, Dinsmore, with his new captain’s uniform, 
was a handsome officer, and there was something 
romantic about his escape from the dreadful massacre 
of the river Raisin. 

In this little village of Cleveland he soon met all 
its society, and, among others. Miss Mixture. Every 
young lady Was anxious to receive Captain Dinsmore’s 
attentions, and none more anxious than Miss Mix- 
ture. She told him that she wished very much to 
see him, as there were some matters in connection 
102 


War of 1812 


103 


with their first meeting that she wished to explain. 
Dinsmore’s recollection of that meeting, while ex- 
ceedingly painful, had been by subsequent events much 
weakened, and he could not, under the circumstances, 
easily avoid accepting her invitation. 

A few evenings later he called. He was received 
with the greatest cordiality. He had not visited with 
her long, until, looking at him with one of those sweet, 
tender looks that she knew so well how to assume, 
but which in the present case was not all assumed, 
she said: “Captain, I think, in justice to you and my- 
self, I ought to speak of our first meeting. I have 
often thought of you since then, because after I left 
that night I learned more about that hunt, and I hope 
you will forgive me. I said some naughty things that 
night; but you see you were not only a stranger to 
me, but I did not know that you were in any way con- 
nected with the affair. I had known Henry and his 
sister Ruth — a dear, sweet girl — for so long, that I felt 
a friendly interest in them, and I thought then, as I 
do now, that he had been cruelly deserted, and I natu- 
rally felt indignant; only then I did not know, as I do 
now, who was guilty. Captain, I hope you do not 
blame me; for I have suffered with the thought that 
I annoyed you.” 

Dinsmore assured her that it was all past, and that, 
in fact, he had nearly forgotten the whole affair at the 
table. 

“By the way,” said Miss Mixture, “have you seen 
Ruth Wright since you have been here this time ?” 

“No, I have not. She is at home, I think.” 

“T am so sorry; she would be so glad to see you 


104 With British and Braves 

looking so strong and well. She must be a skillful 
nurse.’^ 

"‘She is/' answered Dinsmore. “I sometimes think 
I never would have recovered if she had not taken such 
splendid care of me.” 

“You ought to feel grateful to her.” 

“I can assure you I do,” he replied. 

“Ruth is a good, noble girl,” said she, “and I am 
so glad, and so will you be, to learn that her prospects 
for future happiness are so bright.” 

“What do you mean ?” asked Dinsmore. 

“She is engaged to Major Brown, of a Pennsyh 
vania regiment which was quartered here, and whom 
she nursed while he was sick. He is not only fine^ 
looking, but he is a very worthy and promising young 
man. By the way, speaking of Major Brown reminds 
me that one of the men you so bravely assisted in es- 
caping from Frenchtown was named Brown. You 
must tell me all about your escape.” Thus she adroitly 
turned the conversation, as if she had said nothing of 
importance, and during the remainder of the evening 
used every winsome artifice to make him forget Ruth ; 
for she knew that the poisoned arrow had entered his 
heart, and that love is often caught on the rebound. 

Dinsmore did not sleep well that night. Before 
morning he decided to leave for Kentucky at once; 
but first he determined to learn, if possible, whether 
Miss Mixture's statements were true. The next morn- 
ing he called upon Matthew Hentzler and his mother 
to bid them good-bye. 

“Are you going so soon ?” said Mrs. Hentzler. “I 
think Miss Wright will be here to-day. You ought 


War of 1812 


105 

to see her before you go. If you are not careful the 
Pensylvania major will get the start of you.” Mrs. 
Hentzler said this jokingly, little dreaming that her 
words were wounding Dinsmore worse than the 
savage’s scalping-knife; for that could only cut and 
scar the flesh, while she was cutting and scarring the 
soul. Dinsmore controlled his feelings, and made no 
reply; but soon afterward, in talking with Matthew, 
he asked with apparent indifference: “Who is this 
Pennsylvania major of whom your mother spoke?” 

“I do not know anything about him, only every 
one thinks he is a very fine man; and I have heard 
that he is going to marry Miss Wright.” 

Miss Mixture had told him this ; but he did not say 
so, for he supposed it to be a fact, and he did not think 
the source of his information of any importance; but 
he observed that Dinsmore was troubled by what he 
had learned — for he could not entirely conceal his 
feelings — and Hentzler added, not thinking just what 
effect his words might have under the circumstances : 
“I may be mistaken, but Major Brown left yesterday, 
and Miss Wright will now return. Some think that 
it would have been embarrassing to her for you both 
to be here at the same time ; but I think you can cut 
him out, now that you are here and he is gone, if you 
try very hard.” 

After his interview with Hentzler, Dinsmore re- 
turned to his hotel. It was the best and only hotel 
in Cleveland. After supper he went into the office. 
A bright, cheerful fire was burning in the immense fire- 
place, and, besides the light from this fire, a couple 
of tallow candles had been placed on the counter of 


io6 With British and Braves 

the bar, so as to enable the landlord and barkeeper 
to make change, for the bar and office were one. 
Money was scarce in those days, but whisky was cheap, 
and the hotel was not only a place for taking care of 
travelers and the dealing out of liquor, but also the 
general meeting-place of the villagers to hear the 
news. 

The bar consisted of a few glasses and a barrel of 
whisky, from which the drinks, at two for five cents or 
three cents for one, were drawn by means of a wooden 
faucet. The loungers and guests greeted Dinsmore 
with great respect. Some asked him to take a drink, 
and tried to engage him in conversation, both in jest 
and earnest. The principal topic, however, was the 
war and the outlook for its future. 

Soon the mail-coach from the South drove up to 
the hotel. Dinsmore at once engaged a seat for Cin- 
cinnati, and learned that the coach would start 
promptly at five o’clock in the morning. After mak- 
ing the necessary arrangements for his journey, he 
asked for a light, and the landlord handed him a tallow 
candle placed in a shining brass candlestick. This 
candlestick was a special compliment to Dinsmore, 
as most of the guests lighted themselves to bed by a 
candle placed in an iron candlestick. The conversa- 
tion, laughter, jesting, and story-telling of the hotel 
office seemed, for the first time, unpleasant to Dins- 
more, and he felt as though he could endure it no 
longer. He went to his room ; found it cold and cheer- 
less. He placed the candlestick upon the window-sill, 
for there was no other place to put it. He did not 
mind the cold room; a warm one would have been 


War of 1812 


107 


oppressive to him. He was warmed by an inward 
fever. 

He paced backward and forward in his room. 
The floor was uncarpeted^ and the sound of his foot- 
steps annoyed him. He thought of Ruth, how he had 
watched her day by day, when, as a ministering angel, 
she seemed his ideal, the embodiment of all that was 
tender, loving, true, and faithful in woman. It was 
true she had not given him any promise in words of 
her love. He had not, in words, asked her to love him ; 
but in the thousand and one signs and expressions by 
which soul speaks to soul, each had told the other 
many and many a time of love. He thought of the 
evening, a few short weeks since, when he had held 
her in his arms and implanted upon her lips a kiss 
that made his very heart throb, not with the ecstasy 
of passion, but with the elevating, stimulating, and 
soul-enobling thought that he was loved by one so 
tiue, so noble and faithful. Yet, as he now believed, 
while this supposed noble woman, this ideal of woman- 
hood, was returning his embraces of love and looking 
woman’s holy love into his very soul, she was making 
love to another, to whom, before Dinsmore was fairly 
out of sight, she had given her plighted troth. And 
still more, from what he had learned from Hentzler, 
Ruth was at least partially faithless to the man to 
whom she had promised her faith and heart; for ac- 
cording to Hentzler’s statements — and Dinsmore had 
unlimited confidence in his friend Hentzler — Ruth 
had left Cleveland for the purpose of avoiding meeting 
Dinsmore and Major Brown together. This made 
her actions all the more unworthy; for he believed 


io8 


With British and Braves 


that if he had not accidentally discovered her faith- 
lessness, she would have still pretended to love him, 
notwithstanding her plighted love to another. 

As we have seen, Ruth's love had been a potent 
influence in developing the latent good in Dinsmore's 
soul. Now all was different. For a time, at least, 
these noble impulses were being stifled, and more : at 
that hour he felt a hatred towards all womankind. All 
were false and faithless. His room seemed stifling. 
He passed out into the open air. He felt a desire to 
get away from himself. As he walked along a street 
of the quiet village, he accidentally thought of Miss 
Mixture. She had warmly insisted upon his calling 
before he left. He did not admire her ; he thought she 
was simply an attractive, pretty-looking, soulless 
woman ; but just then it seemed to him that she was 
as good as any other woman. She could at least for 
the moment divert his thoughts. He knew that Ruth 
was now at Mrs. Hentzler’s, but to have seen her 
would have been not only exceedingly unpleasant, but 
it would have added fuel to the fire that he wished ex- 
tinguished. 

A woman with even less moral worth than Miss 
Mixture would have pleased him at that moment still 
better; for no woman was worthy of more than the 
fancy or passion of the hour. He called upon Miss 
Mixture. When first she saw him he was simply an 
unknown hunter. Now he was not only a captain, 
but a petted hero. 

Never did Dinsmore seem so gay and witty as that 
evening. His flattery and protestations of regard for 
Miss Mixture, which he did not feel, would have made 


War of 1812 


109 


him dishonorable in his own eyes at any other time, 
and would have offended, instead of pleased, a better 
and truer woman. He even went so far as to embrace 
her and implant a kiss upon her lips as he said good- 
bye ; but how different from the one he had implanted 
upon Ruth's lips a few weeks before. That was a 
kiss of purity and affection; this was the kiss of a 
roving gallant. 

Before daybreak the next morning, Dinsmore had 
entered the mail-coach, and was on his way to Ken- 
tucky. 

We must now leave him for a few moments, and 
look in at the Hentzler home. Ruth, on reaching 
Cleveland, learned from Mr. Hentzler that Captain 
Dinsmore was not only in the village, but that he was 
going to leave the next morning. Mrs. Hentzler also 
informed her, in answer to an inquiry, that Dinsmore 
knew of her expected arrival that day. She had, there- 
fore, with a joyous, expectant heart, watched and 
waited for his coming. She did not think it possible 
that he would leave without calling to see her. Several 
times she thought she heard footsteps that were his, 
and her heart throbbed and her cheeks flushed with 
pleasure, but each time she was doomed to disappoint- 
ment. At length she was forced, owing to the late- 
ness of the hour, to believe that he was not coming; 
why, she could not imagine. She sought in vain for 
reasons, and then, with womanly hope and confidence, 
yet with some vague forebodings, she said to herself, 
‘‘There must be some good reason, which I shall know 
some time." 

The next morning, thinking that Dinsmore might 


no 


With British and Braves 


be sick, she requested Matthew to go to the hotel and 
make inquiries ; but he returned with the information 
that Dinsmore was out quite late the night before, and 
had left on the morning stage. Ruth, though per- 
plexed, grieved, and disappointed, went bravely to 
work. 

A few days after Dinsmore’s departure. Miss Mix- 
ture called upon Ruth. Since Dinsmore last visited 
Miss Mixture — the most cunning people are often the 
most easily self-deceived — she believed that she had 
supplanted Ruth in Dinsmore’s affections, and could 
hardly wait for an opportunity to make known to 
Ruth her success. To do so would at once gratify 
Miss Mixture’s vanity and torture Ruth. After chat- 
ting for some time. Miss Mixture asked Ruth when 
she returned to the village. Upon being informed. 
Miss Mixture pretended to be greatly surprised, and 
said: ‘T did not suppose you were here that day, for 
you and Captain Dinsmore were once such great 
friends, and, as he had not seen you for some time, 
and had called upon me very often during his stay 
here, I should have supposed he would have spent that 
evening with you instead of with me.” 

Ruth colored, but suppressed her feelings as much 
as possible, and replied calmly, “Captain Dinsmore 
had the right to spend his last evening in Cleveland 
where he thought best, and I hope you had a pleasant 
visit with him.” 

“O, I did. I think he is charming; but while I 
like him very much, I think he is a little forward ; he 
made me a little vexed.” 

“How so ?” said Ruth. 


War of 1812 


III 


“O, nothing ; I do not like to speak of such things. 
While it is true he showed me a great deal of atten- 
tion when he was here, and seemed to think a great 
deal of me, I think he was very presumptuous to em- 
brace and kiss me as fondly as he did when he left, 
although I suppose that is a way of gallantry these 
Kentucky soldiers have. For my part, I do not want 
a young man to take such liberties, even if he is a 
special friend; but a girl can hardly be offended at 
such a fine-looking fellow as Dinsmore, even if he is 
a little forward.^’ 

These words cut to the quick. Ruth thought of 
her parting with Dinsmore. To her that embrace, 
that kiss was a sacred remembrance, a secret of the 
heart; and to hear this girl thus boasting — for while 
she pretended to be angry, Ruth knew that she was 
pleased — not only added to Ruth’s sorrow, but also 
produced a feeling of resentment mingled with dis- 
gust; and she replied with words that stung Miss 
Mixture, but at the same time stung herself: “Yes, 
these soldier boys are, I hear, in the habit of kissing 
every girl that says, by her actions, that she wants to 
be kissed by them.” 

Miss Mixture plainly saw that she had wounded 
Ruth’s feelings, and she said : “O dear ! I did not sup- 
pose that you were so well-informed as to the soldier 
boys. I have no doubt that you speak from ex- 
perience.” 

The hot blood mounted to Ruth’s face; but, con- 
trolling her feelings, she replied quietly, “Let us drop 
this subject, for it will do neither of us any good to talk 
in this way.” 


II2 


With British and Braves 


With but little further conversation, Miss Mixture 
brought her call to a close, and Ruth soon after sought 
her room, and there gave way to her feelings in a 
copious flood of bitter tears. Love’s bright ecstatic 
dream had vanished. Dinsmore was her first and only 
love. 

During her stay at home, Henry had also visited 
home — as we shall learn later — and from him she had 
received a full account of Dinsmore’s courage and 
moral worth. He told her how Dinsmore had not only 
resisted the temptation to inflict perhaps deserved 
punishment upon his enemy, Hastings, but how he had 
restrained the others from putting into execution their 
feelings of just resentment and anger. 

As Henry related these things Ruth felt a genuine 
and laudable pleasure in the belief that Dinsmore’s 
actions had been controlled, at least in part, by his 
love for her ; and now this brave and true-hearted man, 
this real hero, this ideal embodiment of true and worthy 
manhood, had vanished. As she thought of all these 
things, of her last parting with him, of Miss Mixture’s 
shameless boast, her tears became less copious, but 
more bitter, and at length she cried and sobbed her- 
self to sleep. In her sleep she again saw Captain 
Dinsmore, clothed in his officer’s uniform, the ideal 
of true, heroic manhood. She heard his ardent vows ; 
she felt his kiss of pure love. She awoke from this de- 
lightful dream, only to realize, by cruel contrast, the 
intensity of her disappointment and anguish. At 
length her thoughts became more calm and her con- 
ception clearer, and she said, almost aloud : “No, I will 
not believe he is false and faithless. Miss Mixture 


War of 1812 


113 

has perhaps deceived me” — and then a new thought 
flashed through her mind — “perhaps deceived him. 
Yes, Miss Mixture said he had been to see her 
several times before I returned.” With these thoughts 
Ruth arose and dressed. She then knelt down, and 
with no feeling of bitterness in her heart, not only 
asked God to give her strength to endure her sorrow, 
but’ prayed most earnestly for the welfare of the one 
she so truly loved. 

History tells us that, with the advent of the warm 
weather in the winter of 1813, the sickness in Harri- 
son’s army very greatly increased, and some of the 
sick were sent to Cleveland to be cared for. Fortu- 
nately for Ruth, she was very busy in nursing them; 
and while not a day passed that her thoughts did not 
dwell upon the absent soldier, not a day passed that 
her prayers did not ascend to the Throne of Grace for 
his welfare. Yet she had no time to brood over her 
sorrows, and she at least partially forgot her own in 
striving to assuage the sufferings of others. 

Very soon after his return from Frenchtown, Henry 
visited his parents. On his way from Fort Meigs to 
his father’s home he stopped at Fort Stephenson, and 
at that place he had an opportunity — there being no 
regular mail between Fort Stephenson and Cleve- 
land — to send a letter to his sister, requesting her to 
meet him at their home, that they might enjoy a visit 
together. On his way home he had to pass his uncle’s 
house, and of course stopped to see the family. 

He was greeted warmly and affectionately by 
every one; for the news of his almost miraculous es- 
cape from the massacre of Frenchtown had already 
8 


With British and Braves 


1 14 

reached his home. His aunt, in her pleasure and de- 
light at seeing him return safe, threw her arms affec- 
tionately around him, saying, “Thank God, you have 
returned safe and sound !” After her mother had set 
such a bad example, of course Charlotte was excus- 
able in doing the same thing, even “before folks.” 

The evening of Henry’s return, a number of the 
neighbors and his uncle’s family called to see him, 
and to hear of the bloody slaughter at Frenchtown. 
As he described the terrible, heart-rending scenes 
there enacted — although no one in the room had 
lost friend or relative, those slain being largely Ken- 
tuckians — the feeling of anger and sorrow depicted 
on the faces of his listeners can better be imagined 
than described. But when he reached the account 
of Hastings and his first intention of shooting him and 
his companions, partially to avenge the^death of his 
comrades, and how Dinsmore induced the others to 
desist from meting out what seemed a just punish- 
ment, it was noticed that Charlotte shuddered and 
trembled, but this was thought to be the natural 
effect of the terrible recital. 

That night Charlotte did not, as usual, fall asleep 
at once upon retiring. The excitement aroused by 
Henry’s description of the terrible scenes at French- 
town was not all that kept her awake. Henry’s mother 
had more than half divined Charlotte’s feelings. Char- 
lotte had, as we have seen, met Hastings at the home 
of her aunt. He was a fine-appearing, manly young 
fellow. In short, by that subtle alchemy of the soul 
which no philosopher or psychologist has yet ex- 
plained, these two young people were almost in- 


War of 1812 


115 

.sensibly and irresistibly drawn together. While they 
had never directly spoken of love, they had often, in 
their conduct towards each other, crossed that in- 
definable boundary which separates the pleasant land 
of friendship from the happy kingdom of love, and 
when they came to part each had impressed upon the 
lips of the other a kiss which seemed to linger and 
make each happy. They had not only been parted 
for some time, but they belonged to nations engaged 
in a bloody, bitter strife. Neither had in words clearly 
thought of love, but each had hung in the halls of 
memory a most attractive picture of the other. 

When Hastings visited John Wright’s he did so 
on the plea of a wish to take part in the hunt. Char- 
lotte not only hoped, but felt that Hastings had been 
induced to participate in it principally because he de- 
sired to see her. She said to herself, “The Canadians 
have more game and better opportunities to hunt than 
we have.” Besides, as we have seen, before Hastings 
returned to Cleveland, he had a short conversation 
with Charlotte. It was not so much what they said 
at this time as their looks and manner that tended to 
revive and stimulate the feelings each entertained for 
the other. Then, too, she had learned of the terrible 
duel of Hastings and Dinsmore on the banks of the 
Detroit River, and the recital of this combat had in- 
creased her admiration for Hastings; for, according 
to Dinsmore’s own statement, Hastings fought 
bravely; and she said to herself,“No man can justly 
be called a coward who is willing and ready to meet 
a man like Dinsmore in a hand-to-hand conflict.” But 
Hastings was absent. He belonged to a hated nation. 


ii6 With British and Braves 

Henry was present, and was not only brave, manly, 
and strong, but he was fighting his country’s battles — 
he was glorious. She admired him, and her womanly 
instinct said, “Henry loves me.” 

When a woman admires a man who is present, 
and at the same time feels that he loves her, it takes 
a better armor than the memory of the absent lover to 
protect her entirely from the darts of the winged god ; 
and each dart that pierces her armor under such cir- 
cumstances helps to efface the picture on memory’s 
walls. Charlotte had at first tried to ridicule in her 
heart the idea of her cousin Henry being in love with 
her. “He thinks a great deal of me as his cousin,” 
she had often said to herself ; but of late she felt that 
Henry’s feelings were much more than those of mere 
cousinly affection. She also began to realize that her 
feelings for Henry were very different from what they 
had been. The last few times that he had left home, 
the parting embrace and good-bye kiss had caused her 
heart to beat as no mere cousinly feeling could. Yet 
she kept continually looking at the other picture in 
memory’s gallery. But now she began to believe 
Hastings to be, not a coward, but a bad, cruel man ; 
and yet there was something in her heart which con- 
tradicted this belief. Still thinking, she at length fell 
asleep — “to sleep: perchance to dream. Aye, there 
is the rub.” She dreamed. She saw before her the 
fearful events that had just been portrayed to her. 
She saw the hideous painted savages, with knives and 
tomahawks reeking with blood. She saw the ground 
covered with the dead and dying. She heard wild, 
inhuman yells; she heard calls for mercy when there 


War of 1812 


117 

was no mercy; and amid all this scene of blood and 
cruelty she saw Hastings, like a spirit of evil — like 
a fiend from the realms of eternal hate — urging on and 
directing the work of death and cruelty. She awoke 
from this horrid dream, trembling. “It is true,” she 
said to herself, “Hastings is unworthy and cruel. I 
will never think of him again.” 

After remaining at home for a few days, Henry 
returned to Fort Meigs ; but the evening before leaving 
he spent with Charlotte. He thought she had never 
been so kind and frank, and never seemed the time to 
pass so quickly, nor their parting quite so affectionate. 
On his way home, as he walked slowly along with 
throbbing heart, he said to himself : “What a fool and 
coward I was that I did not make a full confession of 
my love to Charlotte! She knows that I love her, but 
a girl wants to be told of a man’s love. If I keep 
putting this off, I shall never tell her.” 

But now let us return to Dinsmore. You all re- 
member the unfortunate mental and moral condition 
in which he left Cleveland. He had resolved never to 
think again of Ruth. He felt that her wanton faith- 
lessness had wiped out all the debt of gratitude he 
owed her; besides, to think of her was not merely 
mental pain, but worse — it was anger and moral bitter- 
ness. 

The mail-coach was full of passengers. Nothing, 
not even an ocean voyage, brings fellow-travelers in 
such close social contact as a long journey in a stage- 
coach. Dinsmore had congenial companions, but he 
was the liveliest and most entertaining of the whole 
company. No one would have suspected the burning 


ii8 With British and Braves 

heart concealed beneath the gay, joyous exterior. 
How often it is that the wounded bird flies the most 
swiftly ; the injured deer bounds the most lightly ; the 
hollow tree appears the most grand and majestic ; and 
the tortured soul appears the most joyous and happy! 

But Dinsmore’s journey at last came to an end. 
He reached his Kentucky home, and the first person 
to meet him was his dear, good mother. She threw 
her arms around her darling boy, whom, for some 
days after the first news of the terrible disaster at 
Frenchtown, she had believed, not only to be among 
the dead, but among the mangled and scalped. With 
a mother’s ecstasy of delight she embraced him, and 
wept tears of joy over the return of her son, whom 
in her dreams she had seen scalped and freezing in 
the bloody snows on the banks of the river Raisin. 
There is nothing so near the divine in this world as 
the love of a good mother. If a young man has a good 
mother — and the faith I have in the future of our 
people lies in the fact that most boys have good 
mothers — and he loves that mother, I always have 
hope for him, no matter how low or fallen he may have 
become. Some day the love and memory of that 
mother will reach down into the gloom and darkness 
of his degradation, and lift him up into a better and 
nobler life. The world is full of true and worthy men 
who, in the dark hour when temptation has nearly 
won the victory, have been strengthened and saved 
by the memory and love of a good and true mother. 

When Dinsmore left Cleveland he had no faith in 
womankind. Women were not regarded by him as 
worthy of true, honorable love. They were, to his 


War of 1812 


119 

thought^ the lawful prey of the successful man. It 
was not from passion, but from anger and lack of 
respect for women, that he thus felt; but the pure, 
tender, loving embrace of his mother aroused his 
better nature. After his mother came the fond, sweet, 
and affectionate embrace of his sister. Dinsmore was 
himself again. 

That night, when he lay down in bed, he thought 
of Ruth, of his mother and sister, and then of himself ; 
and the more he thought of his mother and sister, and 
of his own wicked, unworthy feelings, the more humble 
he became. He said to himself: “He who is so un- 
worthy as to believe that all women are false because 
he is deceived in one, is not worthy of a good and 
faithful woman. There are others as good and true as 
my mother and sister, and I will find one some day. 
I was simply deceived in Ruth, or’' — and he stopped 
and thought for some time. His ideas were clearer 
than they had been when in a less calm mood, and at 
length he added : “Is it possible that I have been de- 
ceived by others, and that Ruth is yet a true and 
worthy woman ? It seems impossible ; still I may be 
mistaken. I will know some day.” And with these 
thoughts he fell asleep. 


Chapter VII 

We: must now turn our atention to the war in the 
Northwest. As we have seen, after the terrible disaster 
at Frenchtown, General Harrison established his head- 
quarters in the forest that skirted the rapids of the 
Maumee. He had in his immediate command at Fort 
Meigs about i,8oo men, who were placed under the 
skillful direction of Captain Wood, chief engineer 
of Harrison’s army. Under Wood’s instructions, Har- 
rison’s soldiers immediately proceeded to fortify Fort 
Meigs. A camp was laid out, somewhat irregular in 
shape, covering about eight acres. It was the inten- 
tion to inclose this place, with the exception of small 
intervals left for batteries and blockhouses, with 
picketed timbers fifteen feet long, and from ten to 
twelve inches in diameter, and set three feet in the 
ground. As soon as the lines of the camp were desig- 
nated, a portion of the labor was assigned to each com- 
pany, by which means a very laudable emulation was 
easily developed. To complete the picketing, to put 
up the blockhouses, and to build the storehouses 
and magazines required to contain the supplies of the 
army, was a very considerable undertaking. Besides, 
an immense amount of labor was required in excavat- 
ing ditches and clearing away the forests about the 
camp, and all this had to be done when the weather 
was inclement and the ground so hard that it could 
not be removed without the aid of a mattock and 


120 


War of 1812 


121 


pickax. But to the use of these tools most of the 
soldiers were accustomed, and this knowledge was, 
in this case, the salvation of the army. 

Unfortunately, before the work of fortifying Fort 
Meigs had progressed very far. General Harrison was 
called to Cincinnati. He went there for two reasons : 
to visit his sick family, and to take the supervision 
of bringing forward supplies and recruiting fresh 
troops. He was desirous of increasing his army until 
it should reach at least four thousand men, as he 
deemed it absolutely necessary to have this number 
of men under his command before he could hope suc- 
cessfully to attack Fort Malden, and besides, the term 
of service of a larger portion of the 1,800 men at Fort 
Meigs would expire in the early spring. Governor 
Shelby, of Kentucky, with great enthusiasm and 
energy, assisted General Harrison in the recruiting 
of Kentucky troops, and made a call for three thou- 
sand militia, 1,500 of them for Harrison’s army, who 
were to be organized into four regiments, forming a 
brigade to be commanded by General Clay. About 
the first of April, Harrison, with a small body of 
troops from Kentucky and Ohio, leaving the main 
body to be brought up by General Clay, arrived at 
Fort Meigs. Among these was a company under the 
command of Captain Dinsmore. Upon Dinsmore’s 
return to Kentucky, and his recounting the dreadful 
deeds enacted at the river Raisin, he succeeded, with 
but little difficulty, in raising a company of Kentucky 
sharpshooters, who marched northward with the 
battle-cry upon their lips, “Remember the river 
Raisin !” 


122 


With British and Braves 


When Harrison reached Fort Meigs he found that 
the Pennsylvania and Virginia troops, and some 
others, their time having expired, had left the army, 
reducing the number of troops to about 500 men. He 
also found, to his great surprise and disappointment, 
that but little progress had been made in fortifying 
the place. About the time General Harrison left for 
Cincinnati, Captain Wood went to Sandusky for the 
purpose of superintending the erection of a fortifica- 
tion, leaving the work at Fort Meigs in charge of 
Colonel Leftwich, belonging to the Virginia militia. 
Leftwich not only proved himself thoroughly incom- 
petent, but he appears to have contemplated the de- 
sertion of his post as early as possible. He was not 
only regardless of the danger to the stores, but of the 
comfort and safety of those whom he might leave be- 
hind. He allowed all work upon the fortifications to 
cease, and, besides, he permitted the soldiers to burn, 
for fuel, the pickets which had been collected for the 
purpose of forming a stockade. 

During this period, Henry Wright, in common 
with many of the officers and soldiers, had been watch- 
ing with anger and mortification the results of Left- 
wich's indifference and incompetency. One morning, 
in the latter part of February, Henry noticed a large 
fire upon which the Virginia militia were piling pickets 
which had already been sharpened and prepared for 
the defense of the fort. He sought the headquarters 
of Colonel Leftwich, and modestly and deferentially 
expostulated with him upon the danger of permitting 
such lawlessness, saying that he (Henry) could or- 
ganize a volunteer force that would proceed to the 


War of 1812 


123 


woods, which were close at hand, and obtain all the 
necessary fuel; but Colonel Leftwich indignantly list- 
ened to Henry’s expostulations and offers, and threat- 
ened to place him in the guard-house. 

During the day Henry brooded over the condition 
of things. He had no feelings in respect to the man- 
ner in which he had been treated. He would have 
willingly been punished in the guard-house could he 
only have succeeded in staying the waste of materials 
that might soon become of inestimable value. That 
night he sought the quarters of one of the officers, and 
said to him : ‘T am a scout. I am not directly con- 
nected with the army. I am simply under the officer 
who has command of the fort. I can leave the service 
at any time. Would I be guilty of any offense should 
I leave the fort and inform Captain Wood, at San- 
dusky, of the condition of things here ?” * After some 
conversation, Henry decided that it was his duty to 
inform Captain Wood. He determined to do so re- 
gardless of the consequences. 

Accordingly, on the following morning before 
daylight, he started for Sandusky. It was a long and 
perilous tramp of over sixty miles through the snow- 
covered and trackless forest. It was his intention, 
notwithstanding the distance, to reach Fort Stephen- 
son that night, but there was a coating of snow, and 
much of the way the ground underneath it was soft, 
and he found his strength insufficient to carry him 
through. 

When about ten miles from the fort he found him- 

^In 1812 scouts were not usually, as in later wars, enlisted men, and 
could leave the service at any time. 


124 


With British and Braves 


self compelled to bivouac for the night in the forest. 
He attempted to make a fire, but everything was so 
wet with rain and snow that he failed in the attempt. 
As the shades of night began to darken the forest, 
every now and then he could hear in the distance the 
howling of wolves, which, as the darkness increased, 
grew louder, nearer, and more frequent. He realized 
that should he go to sleep, or even pass the night 
while awake upon the ground, he might be torn 
to pieces by the hungry wolves, that are always more 
dangerous and ravenous when snow covers the 
ground. Fortunately, the night was not very cold, 
and after looking about him for some time he dis- 
covered a small tree, with some thick branches not 
very far above the ground. 

Accordingly, he climbed this tree, drew his gun up 
after him, and wrapping his blanket around him so 
as to protect himself as much as possible from the 
weather, prepared to pass the night in the tree-top. 

It was not long before the wolves gathered around 
the tree which he had climbed, barking, yelping, and 
often leaping up into the air in their mad but vain 
attempts to reach him. There, standing upon one 
limb, with his hands upon another, so as to keep him- 
self in position, often stamping his feet upon the limb 
and striking them against the sides of the tree to keep 
them warm, with the wolves howling around and be- 
neath him, he passed the night without once closing 
his eyes in sleep. At the first indication of the break 
of day the wolves departed, permitting him to descend 
and proceed upon his journey. About noon he 
reached Fort Stephenson, nearly exhausted. He re- 


War of 1812 


125 


inained there until the following day, and then pro- 
ceeded to Sandusky. Upon reaching Sandusky he 
informed Captain Wood of the condition of affairs at 
Fort Meigs, and how he had, at the risk of censure 
and of his life, determined to apprise Captain Wood 
of these facts. Captain Wood most heartily thanked 
the brave scout for his courage and patriotism, and 
informed him that he had nobly done his duty. Al- 
most immediately he repaired to Fort Meigs, and 
proceeded, with great zeal, to complete the work at 
the fort. 

Shortly after General Harrison returned to Fort 
Meigs, the ice began to move in the Detroit River and 
the lake. Proctor at once proceeded to execute his 
plans for an early attack upon the fort. Ever since 
his bloody deeds at the river Raisin, he had been using 
every means in his power to concentrate at Malden, 
in addition to the British and Canadian forces, as 
large a number of Indians as possible. He fired the 
zeal of Tecumseh by holding out to him bright hopes 
of success in his great plan of confederating all the 
savage tribes in the Northwest; and, besides, Proctor 
boasted of his ample power to place in the hands of 
his Indian allies not only Fort Meigs, its garrison 
and stores, but he also promised that he would de- 
liver over to him as a prisoner, his old enemy. General 
Harrison. 

Tecumseh, with his usual skill, energy, and influ- 
ence, succeeded, notwithstanding the effects of Harri- 
son’s previous raids and their continued defeats by him, 
in assembling at Fort Malden over 1,500 Indian war- 
riors. Proctor was highly pleased with the response of 


126 


With British and Braves 


the savages to his call; and visions of speedy victory, 
personal glory, and official promotion were before his 
eyes. He became more boastful in his manner, and 
more supercilious than ever in his conduct towards 
the Americans at Detroit. He assembled, early in 
April, at Sandwich, a short distance from Detroit, the 
Canadian militia, and on the 23d of April, 1813, he 
embarked his army, consisting of 2,500 men, includ- 
ing the Indians, on a brig and several smaller vessels. 
He was also accompanied by two gunboats with some 
artillery. 

On the 28th this force landed on the left bank of 
the Maumee River, near old Fort Miami, and estab- 
lished a camp at that point. General Harrison had 
been for some days daily expecting an attack, and 
upon the morning on which Proctor’s forces and his 
Indian allies landed at Fort Miami, Captain Hamilton, 
with Henry Wright and Peter Navarre, had been sent 
out to reconnoiter. They soon discovered the enemy, 
and immediately returned to the Fort and informed 
General Harrison of his approach. 

General Harrison had at this time only a little over 
one thousand men ; and although Fort Meigs was 
quite strong — several blockhouses having been 
erected, together with lines of intrenchments and a 
fairly good supply of field pieces put in position — yet 
Harrison was relatively both weak in numbers and 
wanting in military supplies. He feared that if the 
fort should be subjected to a protracted siege his am- 
munition would be exhausted. He was also con- 
vinced, from the character and number of the enemy, 
that his post was in great peril. 


War of 1812 


127 


He knew that General Clay was on the march with 
his Kentuckians to re-enforce him. Immediately 
upon receiving information of Proctor’s arrival, Gen- 
eral Harrison sent Peter Navarre to Fort Stephen- 
son with dispatches announcing Proctor’s landing at 
Maumee. At the same time he sent Captain Oliver, 
together with Henry Wright and a friendly Indian, 
to General Clay, to urge him to press forward with 
all possible haste.* It was not known exactly where 
Clay’s forces were, but he was supposed to be on the 
march between St. Mary’s and Fort Defiance, and the 
three messengers were ordered to proceed first to the 
latter place. This was a perilous journey. The 
country was beset with hostile savages. The route 
was through an unbroken forest, the ground was soft 
and spongy and, in some places, almost impassable 
at that season of the year. 

The sun was beginning to sink in the western hori- 
zon when the four men started out into the forest. 
A body of troops escorted them into the woods be- 
yond the opening which surrounded the fort, so that 
if they were perceived by the enemy it would not be 
observed, upon the return of the troops, that some 
had remained behind. As soon as the four messen- 
gers reached the thick forest, each man, with three 
days’ provisions, a gun, two pistols (there were no 
revolvers then), a blanket, and a large hunting-knife, 
started on his perilous journey, and soon disappeared 
in the thick and tangled forest, one in the direction of 
Fort Stephenson (a route not then beset by Indians), 

* History says Harrison sent Captain Oliver, a scout, and a friendly 
Indian. 


128 


With British and Braves 


and the others towards Fort Defiance. They had 
proceeded but a short distance on their journey — the 
forest was growing dark, the sun was beginning to 
sink behind a thick, black cloud — when suddenly the 
Indian, with a low, almost inaudible ^‘hist,” dropped 
instantly to the ground, and the others did the same. 

A moment later a shower of bullets whistled over 
them, followed by a savage warwhoop from a score 
or more of Indians, so quickly as to seem almost like 
a rebound from the discharge of the guns. The three 
sprang to their feet and fled with all possible haste, 
with the Indians in hot pursuit. But their pursuers 
were unable to gain upon them, and it soon became 
so dark that they could only be followed by sound, 
and the pursuit was abandoned. 

Soon after it began to rain in torrents. The thun- 
ders seemed to roll over the tree-tops, while the vivid 
lightnings flashed among the branches of the trees 
and lighted up the dismal darkness of the forest for 
a moment, and then left the blackness more intense and 
blinding than before. It finally became impossible 
to proceed. The ground was so covered with water 
that they could not lie down, and, leaning up against 
a large tree, partly sheltered from the storm, the men 
soon fell asleep in an almost erect position. They 
slept as scouts sleep, to all appearance soundly, but 
the slightest unusual noise wdll waken them. Henry 
had been sleeping, as it seemed, about two hours, when 
something aroused him. He almost involuntarily 
clutched his rifle, which stood beside him, and at the 
same time gently touched his companions. He had 
a vague, intuitive sense of danger. All listened; not 



The Scouts Surprised by a Panther 




War of 1812 


129 


a sound was to be heard save the dripping of the 
water from the branches of the trees, for the rain had 
nearly ceased. The scouts peered into the darkness. 
A little in front of them they saw what seemed to be 
two balls of fire. A flash of lightning again lit up the 
woods for an instant. Before them was an open space 
surrounded by great elms, whose broad, extending 
branches reached out and almost touched each other, 
and it seemed as though they stood in one of nature’s 
amphitheaters; for a few feet in front of them was a 
huge panther, crouching and ready, yet hesitating to 
spring upon his prey. Each man instantly drew his 
hunting-knife, but the beast knew that he had been 
discovered, and fled, leaving the scouts to peer almost 
helplessly into the darkness, and tremble, notwith- 
standing their courage, lest the savage beast, unseen 
and unheard, should spring upon them at any moment. 

Morning dawned, however, without further alarm, 
and the second day the scouts reached Fort Defiance, 
and soon after their arrival General Clay also reached 
the fort with about 1,200 Kentucky troops. 

Almost immediately after Proctor’s landing at Fort 
Miami, a short distance below Fort Meigs, he com- 
menced the erection of some batteries on the bank 
of the river almost directly opposite that fort. Harri- 
son endeavored to prevent the erection of these batter- 
ies; but, notwithstanding the heavy fire from Fort 
Meigs, the work proceeded, and Proctor felt very 
confident of success, boasting that he would soon 
^‘smoke out the Yankees.” 

Fort Meigs, as we have seen, was fortified largely 
by means of a stockade, which was of little avail in 
9 


130 


With British and Braves 


protecting the soldiers from the fire of the batteries 
which Proctor was locating on the other side of the 
river. Harrison very skillfully arranged the tents in- 
side of the fort so as to shut out any view which the 
British might obtain from the opposite side of the 
river. Then, during the night of the 29th and the day 
of the 30th, he set all his men to work, and on the 
morning of the first day of May, when Proctor opened 
up his batteries, he was greatly disappointed and cha- 
grined to observe that an earthwork or embankment 
nine hundred feet long and twelve feet high had been 
erected on the entire river side at Fort Meigs. Proctor 
kept up a continuous fire from his battery during the 
first day of May. But he had no bombshells, nor did 
his artillerymen then have much skill in dropping balls 
into a camp or fort, so that the shot from Proctor’s 
batteries either plunged harmlessly into the soft em- 
bankment, or passed over and beyond the troops. 
Such futile efforts were so encouraging to Harrison’s 
soldiers that often, after a charge of artillery, they 
would spring out upon the embankments, wave their 
hats, and cheer. This enthusiasm was, however, soon 
stopped, for every now and then, from some unknown 
quarter, and in some mysterious way, a man would be 
struck with a bullet, making the men more careful 
about exposing themselves. 

At the end of the first day’s siege Proctor became 
aware that his artillery was having but little effect. 
Accordingly, he sent a number of English troops 
across the river, with a large body of Indians, 
under the command of Tecumseh, for the purpose 
of attacking the fort from the other side. Just 


War of 1812 


131 

below the fort, and running back from the river, 
was a wooded ravine. The Indians and British con- 
cealed themselves in this ravine, and began to erect 
earthworks for the placing of a battery. While this 
work was going on, during the second day’s siege, 
Proctor kept up an incessant fire from his batteries. 
On the third day British batteries from both sides 
poured an uninterrupted storm of shot into the fort, 
to which Harrison made but feeble reply, owing to his 
desire to husband his ammunition. But the location 
of the battery on the edge of the ravine was such that 
the fire from it was scarcely more effective than from 
the opposite side of the river. 

General Proctor also tried to take the fort in a 
still different manner. During the night he moved up 
one of his boats, upon which were placed several 
pieces of artillery. From this boat, under cover of the 
night, which was very dark and cloudy — it having 
rained almost incessantly during the entire siege — he 
opened up a terrific fire upon the fort, and attempted 
to take it by assault, but in this attempt he was com- 
pletely frustated, and, after considerable loss, the boat 
returned to Fort Miami. 

On the morning of the fourth day. General Proctor 
sent a messenger^ under a flag of truce, demanding 
Harrison’s surrender, stating that his force was amply 
sufficient to capture the fort, that resistance was use- 
less, and that a surrender would avoid unnecessary 
effusion of blood. To this note General Harrison re- 
plied, saying: “Tell General Proctor that it will re- 
dound much more to his glory to capture Fort Meigs 
than to have it surrendered.” 


132 


With British and Braves 


Harrison had thus far frustrated every attempt on 
the part of the British ; but he realized, not only their 
great numerical superiority, but the fact that they 
were much better supplied both with arms and ammu- 
nition. He remembered the fate of Hull, and the dis- 
aster at Frenchtown, and he felt very anxious. He 
had heard nothing from Navarre, Captain Oliver, or 
Henry. A little before midnight on the fourth he was 
greatly pleased and encouraged by the arrival, at the 
fort, of Captain Oliver and Henry, together with fif- 
teen men from Clay’s army, from whom he learned 
that soon after the messengers reached Defiance, 
General Clay also arrived at the same place with about 
1^200 men, and that Clay was making all possible 
haste to join General Harrison at Fort Meigs. That 
he had built eighteen flatboats, boarding up the sides 
to protect his men from the fire of any savages who 
might be lurking in the woods along the banks of the 
river, and with these boats, on the fourth of May, he 
had proceeded down the river with his command to 
the head of the rapids (now Grand Rapids). The 
night was intensely dark, the river was swollen, and 
the pilot refused to proceed further. But under the 
guidance of Henry, who was familiar with the river, 
the men who had just arrived at the fort had braved 
both current and the darkness to inform General 
Flarrison that he might soon expect re-enforcements. 
Immediately upon the receipt of this information, 
Harrison, with great promptness and military skill, 
formed his plans for the coming day. He at once 
sent dispatches to General Clay, directing him to pro- 
ceed down the river as early in the morning as pos- 


War of 1812 


133 


sible, and upon arriving at a point just above Fort 
Meigs, which the officer bearing the dispatches would 
designate, to land on the left bank of the river the 
larger portion of his forces. At this point Colonel 
Dudley was to attack the battery on the opposite side 
of the river, throw the guns into the river, or, if that 
could not be done, to spike them, and then cross the 
river to Fort Meigs. With the remainder of his men 
he should land on the right bank just above Fort 
Meigs, and cut his way through the Indians into 
the fort. At the same time Harrison would make a 
sortie from the fort, thus placing the Indians on that 
side of the river between two attacking forces. 

Before break of day Henry was ordered to proceed 
up the river in order to signal Clay’s men. He reached 
the bank of the river before daylight, and, concealed 
in some bushes along the shore, he awaited the com- 
ing of Clay’s forces. While thus waiting he heard 
the report of a musket across the river. He had been 
told of the deadly bullets which came from some un- 
known source. Carefully scanning the opposite shore, 
he noticed a large tree growing close to the bank of 
the river just a little below where he stood. In that 
tree he could see an Indian just in the act of reload- 
ing his gun. A moment after making this discovery 
his rifle rang out, an instant later something dropped 
from that tree, and the mysterious firing ceased.* 

Clay came down the river very early in the morn- 
ing, and was successful in landing his men, under 
Colonel Dudley, just above where is now the village 


«This tree, from which Henry dislodged the Indian, is still standing 
on the bank of the river at Maumee, and is often pointed out to visitors. 


134 


With British and Braves 


of Maumee. Dudley's forces reached the British bat- 
teries almost unperceived. Their attack was com- 
pletely successful: the battery was captured, and the 
guns destroyed. But a portion of his men pursued the 
British and Indians, contrary to orders, some distance 
down the river, and there they were attacked by a 
detachment from Fort Miami. Colonel Dudley was 
informed by a messenger that a portion of his troops 
were in danger of being surrounded and slaughtered. 
In order to rescue them he hastened with his command 
to their assistance, his men, with great enthusiasm, 
raising a war-whoop in imitation of the Indians’ yell, 
charged upon the British and Indians, and drove them 
back in great disorder and confusion. Had Colonel 
Dudley withdrawn his forces at this time, his victory 
would have been complete, but his men were com- 
posed largely of raw militia, and, fired with zeal and 
enthusiasm, they rushed into the woods in hot pursuit 
of the fleeing enemy. General Proctor, supposing that 
he was being attacked by the main body of the Amer- 
icans, had recalled, from the opposite side of the river, 
Tecumseh, with some seven hundred Indians under his 
command. At the same time a large detachment of Brit- 
ish regulars were sent forward from Fort Miami, and 
soon Colonel Dudley’s forces found themselves cut off 
from retreat by a greatly superior force, and their 
victory turned into complete defeat. Colonel Dudley 
heroically endeavored to rally his forces and cut his 
way out. A terrible hand-to-hand conflict ensued. 
The Kentuckians fought with valor, desperation, and 
skill, but the odds against them were too great. Col- 
onel Dudley was at length slain and scalped, and with 


War of 1812 


135 


him nearly his entire command. Within an hour 
after these brave but rash men had entered this dark 
forest, three hundred of them lay dead and dying in 
its dismal shades, and to-day the visitor at Maumee 
is shown the fatal field known as “Dudley’s Massacre.” 
Out of eight hundred men only about one hundred 
and seventy-five were able to escape and cross the 
river.* 

The Indians, with the apparent consent and en- 
couragement of Proctor, commenced the same bloody 
deeds of slaughter and cruelty that marked the dis- 
aster at Frenchtown. Near Fort Miami, twenty pris- 
oners, almost before Proctor’s eyes, were killed and 
scalped ; but as soon as Tecumseh arrived upon the 
scene of slaughter, with less cruelty and inhumanity 
than General Proctor exhibited, he commanded the 
Indians to desist from further slaughter of their pris- 
oners. Tecumseh exercised a much greater control 
over his followers than other Indian chiefs; but so 
bent upon the slaughter and scalping of their prison- 
ers were the Indians at this time that they did not at 
once heed Tecumseh’s commands, whereupon he 
snatched a tomakawk from the hands of an Indian 
who had just killed one of Dudley’s men, and with 
it felled the Indian to the ground. 

This prevented further slaughter. Some of the 
apologists of Proctor claim that he was not so cruel 
as history represents him to be, but that he was afraid 
of his Indian allies, and did not have the courage to 


« There is some dispute as to the number slain, but authorities prac- 
tically agree as to the number that escaped. 


With British and Braves 


136 

prevent them from slaughtering their prisoners; but 
in my opinion he was both cowardly and cruel. 

In the meantime, owing to the rapid current of the 
swollen river, General Clay experienced considerable 
difficulty in landing the remainder of his forces upon 
the east bank of the river, first landing at Hollister Is- 
land, a short distance above Fort Meigs. He, however, 
finally succeeded in reaching the shore. His men, about 
four hundred in number, were immediately formed 
into line, and a charge made against the Indian forces 
at the south of Fort Meigs. At the same time a sortie 
was made from the fort, and the Indians, finding them- 
selves attacked from both sides, fled in great haste to 
the east, they being hemmed in by Clay’s forces to 
the south, the river to the west. Fort Meigs and Harri- 
son’s attacking forces to the north. As the Indians 
fled in great haste. Clay’s soldiers, as well as the at- 
tacking party from the fort, followed them with the 
same reckless impetuosity that had marked the be- 
havior of Dudley’s forces on the opposite side of the 
river, and the result well-nigh proved as fatal on the 
east side as it did on the west. For, ih the meantime, 
Tecumseh had, with the greater part of his command, 
recrossed the river after Dudley’s disaster. 

These, joined to the British forces stationed in the 
ravine at the battery to the east of the fort, imme- 
diately rushed south to cut off and surround in the 
woods our forces which were chasing the fleeing In- 
dians. General Harrison was watching the troops 
from Fort Meigs with glass in hand. Just south of 
the fort was a cleared space ; but to the east, in the 
direction in which the Indians were fleeing, followed. 


War of 1812 


137 


as I have said, in hot haste by Harrison’s and Clay’s 
forces, was a thick forest. As Harrison saw our forces 
plunge into this forest in pursuit of the fleeing In- 
dians, he realized that their ardor and impetuosity 
was very likely to expose them to danger, and per- 
haps disaster, and he said : “It is seldom that a general 
has to repress the ardor and bravery of his troops, 
but these Kentuckians have too much bravery.” 

At the same time he saw a sight which appalled 
him. On the edge of the forest to the east, and a little 
north of where our forces had entered the woods, were 
some five hundred Indians, followed by a large detach- 
ment of British regulars, rapidly advancing southward 
between the fort and the forest. He realized that if 
his men should be surrounded in the woods, and their 
escape cut off by this attack from the rear, they would 
probably be not only defeated, but perhaps a large 
portion of them slain and scalped. 

Not a moment was to be lost. Turning to Captain 
Dinsmore, who was at that moment near the com- 
mander, General Harrison said: “Captain, send the 
best horseman and bravest man in your command to 
warn our troops of the danger, and recall them in- 
stantly. Quick! The loss of a few moments may 
mean the loss of all our men.” 

“I will go myself,” promptly replied Dinsmore. 

“Go,” said the general. 

Dinsmore, seizing a gun, instantly sprang upon 
a horse, and started on his dangerous mission. The 
Indians had already moved so far south as to be al- 
most between the fort and the American forces in the 
woods. The savages could be plainly seen upon the 


13 ^ With British and Braves 

edge of the forest. As Dinsmore, with his horse at 
full speed, rode towards them, the sight in front of 
him would have appalled a less stout and brave heart. 
The savages were frightfully bedaubed with war-paint, 
most of them naked save a cloth around their loins, 
but armed to the teeth with rifles, war clubs, toma- 
hawks, and scalping-knives, and their hair plastered 
so as to resemble the quills of a porcupine. Some of 
them were painted black, some red, some partly white 
and black, and some partly red and white, and, as they 
moved through the edge of the forest stealthily, silently, 
and with as much bloodthirsty cruelty as panthers, 
Dinsmore realized that to fall into their hands would 
not merely mean death, but death and scalping. He also 
realized that the same terrible fate awaited his comrades 
in the woods should he fail in his undertaking, and he 
rode forward without hesitation. The Indians soon dis- 
covered his approach, and a volley of bullets was sent 
after him, both from the Indians and the British, but, 
either owing to the distance or the lack of accuracy 
of aim, none of them reached its mark ; but just at this 
moment Split-Log, the best horseman among the In- 
dians — the chief of whom I have spoken before — who 
was again mounted on a fine gray horse, was seen 
riding at full speed towards Dinsmore, with the evi- 
dent intention of intercepting him. The two riders, 
both with their horses on a full run, drew nearer and 
nearer each other, one riding southeast and the other 
nearly south. General Harrison watched, with intense 
interest and anxiety, the outcome of this race. At 
length Dinsmore had almost reached the forest, and 
in a few moments would be safe. Suddenly, and 


War of 1812 


139 


while going at nearly full speed, Split-Log sprang 
from his horse; dropping on one knee, he raised his 
gun, and fired. 

Dinsmore’s horse sprang into the air with a wild 
plunge, and then fell to the ground. Split-Log’s bul- 
let had struck a vital spot.* 

A loud yell of triumph greeted Split-Log’s achieve- 
ment. Harrison’s lips quivered. An officer, who was 
at this moment standing at Harrison’s side, said : 

“General, can not you spare a few more men from 
the fort? I will charge the redskins from the rear.” 

“Go,” said the General, “but be careful. Defeat 
now means the loss of everything.” 

But Split-Log’s triumph was of short duration. 
Dinsmore, notwithstanding the suddenness of his fall, 
had extricated himself from his fallen horse, and, 
springing up almost as soon as his steed reached the 
ground, he started into the woods on the run, followed 
by a shower of bullets. At the same moment a sharp 
report rang out from behind a great elm that stood at 
the edge of the forest just to the south and west, and 
Split-Log fell to the ground. Henry’s rifle had again 
done its work. After Henry had dislodged the Indian 
sharpshooter from the tree across the river, of which I 
have spoken, he proceeded cautiously up the stream, so 
as to place himself, if possible, in communication with 
General Clay’s forces. Secreting himself in a clump 
of bushes on the edge of the river, he awaited the 
landing of Clay’s men, not thinking it safe or prudent 
to pass through the lines of the Indian forces that 

*The real name of the man who made this heroic ride, and whom we 
have called Johnson Dinsmore, was J. T. Johnson. 


140 


With British and Braves 


were stationed at the south of the fort. As soon as 
Clay made his attack upon the Indians, immediately 
followed, as we have seen, by the sortie from the fort, 
Henry, being further to the west, did not follow our 
forces in their reckless pursuit of the fleeing Indians. 
But no sooner did he see Dinsmore leave the fort on 
his perilous ride than he at once divined his object. 
Running along in the edge of the forest to the south 
of the fort with the great speed for which he was 
noted, he reached the woods to the east at about the 
same time that Dinsmore fell from his horse. He did 
not arrive there soon enough to prevent Split-Log’s 
shot, but soon enough to avenge it. Although Dins- 
more had sprung almost instantly from his horse, he 
discovered, before he had proceeded many steps, that 
he had badly sprained his ankle. 

He kept on running, but at every step the pain 
increased. As he entered the woods Henry and he 
came together, and Henry, perceiving that he was 
badly hurt, and learning the object of his mission, 
said: “Bear off to the west, keep the trees between 
you and the savages, and get back to the fort, if pos- 
sible. I will run on and warn our comrades of their 
danger.” Henry then ran forward with all possible 
speed ; but the yell of the savages, together with their 
firing, had warned our imprudent victors, and the or- 
der for retreat had been given even before Henry’s 
arrival ; but his message hastened their retreat. 

The Americans, upon their return, met a large 
body of Indians and British at the edge of the woods ; 
but the returning soldiers were prepared and expect- 
ing the attack. In the meantime, Dinsmore, finding 


War of 1812 


141 

that he was absolutely unable to proceed, resolved to 
sell his life as dearly as possible, but at the same time 
to avoid all unnecessary danger as far as lay in his 
power. He therefore hid behind a tree a short dis- 
tance from where Henry had left him, with his gun 
and two pistols ready for service. “These are good 
for three savages,” he said grimly to himself. He 
could hear the wild yells of the Indians coming nearer 
and nearer, and sounding louder and more ferocious 
every moment. Death seemed certain. He could not 
escape by flight. He could not contend, single- 
handed, against a savage horde. Moments seemed 
hours. He looked upon the sun for the last time. 
He thought of his old Kentucky home, of his mother, 
his father, and sister. In that hour he thought of 
Ruth, and wondered whether she was true or false; 
whether the news of his death would be received by 
her with indifference or cause her sorrow. “I hope 
they will tell my mother that I died for my country’s 
honor and the safety of my comrades.” The savage 
yells were now close to his retreat. He had not been 
discovered, but he could not much longer remain con- 
cealed. The savages were filling the forest around 
him. He looked towards the fort as though to take 
a last farewell look at the “Stars and Stripes.” He saw 
his brave comrades rushing towards him with all the 
speed in their power. “Brave men,” he said; “they 
can save our comrades, but they will be too late to 
save me.” 

Just then a yell announced that he had been dis- 
covered ; but that yell was that Indian’s last war-whoop. 
No other Indian had seen Dinsmore, and the yell, fol- 


142 


With British and Braves 


lowed by the instant death of the savage, seemed for 
a moment to daze those around him. Had they fallen 
into a trap? A few men were approaching them on 
the run, as though to speedy victory, against a force 
of ten times their number. And here was a sudden 
yell, an instant death. It took Dinsmore but a few 
moments to reload his gun. A savage near the fallen 
one discovered him, and, with a yell, pointed to the 
tree where he stood. This savavge also fell the next 
instant. Strange to say, they did not at once 
rush towards the tree and kill him. The savages 
seemed seized by a momentary fear. The Indians 
always believed that there were some white men pro- 
tected by the Great Spirit who could not be killed. 

Here was a man, with apparently plenty of op- 
portunity to escape, facing a whole army. It was 
either a trap or this man was protected by the Great 
Spirit. At this moment, however, Tecumseh arrived. 
No such foolish fear beclouded his clear, though sav- 
age intellect, and several of his followers rushed to- 
wards the tree at once. Once more Dinsmore’s rifle 
spoke and an Indian dropped. At the last discharge 
three Indians rushed upon him with uplifted toma- 
hawks. Two pistol shots did their work, and only 
one enemy was left. The first blow of this savage 
was parried by Dinsmore’s gun, and a hand-to-hand 
struggle ensued. Dinsmore seized the Indian’s toma- 
hawk, and each seized his hunting-knife, but an in- 
stant later another Indian brought Dinsmore to the 
ground with a fearful blow upon his head. No sooner 
was this blow dealt than the Indian who delivered it 
drew his knife to scalp his prostrate and apparently 


War of 1812 


143 


lifeless foe. At that moment the Indian staggered 
and fell to the ground, and his knife slipped from his 
hand. Henry’s unerring aim had saved his comrade 
and friend from mutilation, and, as he hoped, from 
death. 

Immediately after delivering his message, Henry 
had hastened back to find, and, if possible, assist Dins- 
more ; but Dinsmore had not traveled as far as he ex- 
pected, and Henry had borne off too far to the west ; 
but the report of Dinsmore’s gun had informed Henry 
of his location and peril. At this moment, however, 
the firing became general. Our returning soldiers 
charged the Indians with a rush and a cheer, while, 
at the same time, the small force from the fort opened 
up on the Indians from the rear. Nor did they fire 
as soldiers usually do in battle; that is, in volleys at 
random; but each man selected his target, and the 
bullet seldom missed its mark. 

It was impossible for the Indians and British, al- 
though outnumbering our forces, to withstand this 
double and impetuous attack, and they fled down the 
river in great confusion and haste, and with very 
considerable loss. No sooner had the Indians and 
British fled than the officer who had so gallantly led 
the sortie from the fort, forgetting military etiquette, 
came running to General Clay, and hastily saluting 
him, said: “General, do you know what has become 
of Captain Dinsmore, who so gallantly bore to you 
the message from General Harrison ordering your 
prompt retreat ?” 

“It was not Captain Dinsmore who delivered to 
me the order, but a scout by the name of Wright,” 


144 


With British and Braves 


replied General Clay, “the same brave fellow who was 
one of the bearers of dispatches to me at Fort De- 
fiance/’ 

“Strange,” said the officer. “Captain Dinsmore 
bravely volunteered to carry the order to you.” 

He was interrupted by General Clay, who said: 
“There comes the scout now, bearing, with two others, 
a wounded or dead man.” 

The officer, with a palpitating heart, for Captain 
Dinsmore was not merely a comrade, but a special 
friend, hastened to meet Wright and his companions. 
A handkerchief was thrown over the face of the man 
they were carrying, but the officer saw at a glance 
that they were carrying the seemingly lifeless form 
of the brave Captain Dinsmore. 

Henry quickly said: “He is not dead. Colonel; 
I think we shall be able to save him yet.” 

The smallest star of hope will brighten the dark- 
est night of sorrow, and the officer replied : “If he is 
alive we will pull him through. Take him. to the fort, 
as soon as possible, but bear him gently, my boys.” 

On reaching the fort it was found that, besides a 
dreadful wound on the head, Dinsmore had received 
a severe flesh wound in his side made by the Indian’s 
knife, and that his ankle had become swollen to more 
than twice its usual size. 

Henry looked on in great anxiety while the sur- 
geon was examining Dinsmore’s wounds. 

“He is badly injured,” said the surgeon, “but his 
wounds are not necessarily fatal; there is hope.” 

At this time General Harrison entered, and with 
that generous, impulsive kindness that always charac- 


War oi 1812 


145 


terized him, said: '‘Surgeon, that man is a hero. If 
human skill and care can save him, he must not die.” 

“Everything possible will be done for his recov- 
ery,” replied the surgeon. 

Upon the return of the troops to the fort, they 
were re-enforced by the 175 men who escaped out of 
Dudley’s command. Harrison then ordered a charge 
to be made, following the English and Indians in 
their flight down the river. This charge was com- 
pletely successful. The battery situated at the edge 
of the ravine was taken, the guns captured, and the 
English and Indians driven back at all points, so that 
the night of the fifth day of the siege closed with com- 
plete success attending our efforts in that day’s strug- 
gle, save and except the sad loss of Dudley’s men on 
the west side of the river. As Proctor had lost the 
guns belonging to both of his batteries, he abandoned 
all hope of taking Fort Meigs. Besides, his Indian 
allies began to desert him, and Tecumseh was unable 
to stem the tide of defection among them. 

Just at this time Proctor also received word, 
through a messenger sent from Fort Malden, that Fort 
George, on the Niagara frontier, had fallen. He saw 
before him nothing but the capture and dispersion 
of his troops if he remained longer, and, coward as 
he was, he ignominiously fled, leaving behind him, 
besides his guns, a record of infamy on the shores of 
the Maumee, equal in blackness, but not in extent of 
atrocity, to that which he left upon the banks of the 
river Raisin. For nothing prevented the slaughter and 
scalping of all of Dudley’s command who were taken 
prisoners except the orders of Tecumseh. 


Chapter VIII 

A ]^e:w days after Proctor’s retreat, a message was 
handed General Harrison, that proved to be a letter 
from Ruth Wright, asking permission to come to the 
fort as a nurse. “Brave girl,” said the general. “It 
is such women as she that make our men heroes. 
But it will not do to expose a woman to the dangers 
around us here;” and he kindly refused her request. 
But a few moments later an aide announced to Gen- 
eral Harrison that one of the army surgeons requested 
an interview, which was immediately granted. 

“General,” said the surgeon, approaching the com- 
mander, “I wish, for the sake of our wounded and 
suffering boys, to make a request of you.” 

“Name it,” said Harrison. 

“I want you,” said he, “to countermand the refusal 
to allow Ruth Wright to come to the fort, and nurse 
our wounded. She is a sister of our brave scout, 
Henry Wright; and while she is one of the gentlest 
and kindest of her sex, she has the courage of a hero 
and the endurance of a scout, and more skill in nurs- 
ing the wounded than half our surgeons. When I had 
charge of the hospital at Cleveland,” continued the 
surgeon, with great enthusiasm, “that noble girl, by 
her kindness, her skill, her tact, and womanly nursing 
and care, brought back to health and strength many 
a brave fellow who would otherwise now be sleeping 
beneath the sod. Why, General, if it had not been 
146 


War of 1812 


147 


for her care the brave Captain Dinsmore would not 
have so gallantly risked his life to save us from de- 
feat, but long before this he would have been num- 
bered with the dead.” 

Harrison did not reply for a moment to the doc- 
tor s enthusiasm. It seemed to him entirely out of 
place to let a woman expose herself in this way. But 
after a few moments’ thought, he spoke up quickly 
and decidedly: “Let her come, then, if you think best. 
If she can save the life of a single one of our brave 
boys, she ought to come.” 

A few days later Ruth arrived at the fort. As she 
passed in, the soldiers looked at her with that court- 
eous respect which a true soldier has for a good wo- 
man. But the purest nugget of gold has some dross. 
Among these brave men was one base wretch, who, 
as Ruth passed in on her errand of love and mercy, 
made an insulting remark in reference to her. 

Among the fresh troops that Harrison had gath- 
ered together at Fort Meigs was Dinsmore’s old friend 
and comrade, Matthew Hentzler. As the wretch, 
whose name was Jim Jenks, made the remark, of which 
I have just spoken, Hentzler was standing close be- 
side him. Scarcely had the words escaped Jenks’s 
foul lips before he fell to the ground, leveled by an 
indignant and well-aimed blow from Hentzler’s right 
arm. The blow was dealt with such power and en- 
ergy that Jenks lay for a few seconds upon the ground, 
dazed and semi-conscious. Such a breach of military 
discipline, however, could not escape the notice of the 
officer in charge, and the two men were immediately 
brought before him. Upon hearing the cause of the 


148 


With British and Braves 


blow, the officer, with a look that expressed even more 
than his words his contempt for Jenks, said to him: 
“You were served only partially right; you ought to 
have been shot. One who is so dead to the instincts 
of honor and manhood, as to make the character of a 
good and true woman the subject of low jesting, is 
unfit for the companionship of brave men. You are 
worse than an Indian; for, with all their brutality, they 
respect the honor of woman. Tecumseh, and even 
Split-Log, would tomahawk you if you were with 
them. Begone; even your presence is obnoxious.” 
Then turning to Hentzler, the officer said: “You must 
be careful not to break the peace of the camp; but in 
this instance you are exonerated.” 

Shortly afterwards, at roll-call, Jenks did not re- 
spond. He had taken the officer’s hint, and deserted; 
and later turned up in General Proctor’s camp. He 
could not brook the scorn and contempt of his com- 
rades. 

At first Ruth experienced great embarrassment in 
being unable to procure any place to stay at the fort, 
as there was no apartment found suitable for her occu- 
pation. This difficulty was, however, soon overcome, 
as the surgeon, who, as we have seen, not only knew 
but greatly admired her, cheerfully gave to her his 
own room, which was a separate apartment. 

You all remember Ruth’s mental suffering at Dins- 
more’s neglect to call upon her in Cleveland, which 
was intensified by Miss Mixture’s statements. But 
unlike Dinsmore, her faith had not been destroyed. 
Man may reason more accurately from cause to effect 
than woman. Woman is his superior in reaching cor^ 


War of 1812 


149 


rect conclusions by intuition. Especially is this true 
in matters of the heart and affections. Ruth had long 
since reached the conclusion, not that she had been 
deceived in Dinsmore, but that he had been deceived. 
But what if she should be mistaken? Perhaps he had 
never really loved her. He had never told her of his 
love. But the hope that he loved her, mingled with 
some doubt, only made her love and her desire to 
possess his love the more intense; for the prize we 
hope to win, but fear we may lose, is incomparably 
more dear to us than the one we feel sure of winning. 
With these feelings Ruth entered the hospital, hoping 
and expecting to see Dinsmore. 

She was greatly disappointed in finding that he 
was not in that apartment of the hospital to which she 
was assigned; but the sight of so much pain and suf- 
fering made her forget self, and, notwithstanding her 
intense desire to see Dinsmore, her duties and char- 
acter as a nurse prevented her from showing a wish 
to care for any one in particular. Besides, the more 
she wanted to see Dinsmore, the more her maidenly 
heart shrank from seeking him. 

A couple of days after Ruth’s arrival at the fort, 
Henry called, as he very frequently did, to see his 
friend. Captain Dinsmore. During their conversation, 
Henry incidentally remarked that he hoped Ruth 
would be as successful in bringing him back to health 
and strength as she had been in Cleveland. Dinsmore 
replied with an assumed indifference, and also with a 
tinge of bitterness that did not escape Henry’s notice: 
“I did not know she is here. I have not seen her yet.” 
Henry was not only puzzled and surprised, but a little 


With British and Braves 


150 

angry; for nothing so nettles a brother who loves his 
sister, as to have any one, and especially a friend whom 
he admires, slight, or seem to slight, her. But Henry 
made no reply, and, after a little further conversation, 
he left the room. 

Henry and Dinsmore had become very closely at- 
tached to each other ; their admiration and regard each 
for the other was mutual. We all know how strong 
are the attachments and friendships formed in school 
amid the trials, struggles, and triumphs of early life. 
But these attachments are weak beside those formed 
between comrade and comrade in time of war. There 
is nothing that binds heart to heart, as though with 
bands of iron, like the sharing in common of great dan- 
gers and hardships, when not merely the welfare, but 
the life of each often depends upon the courage, skill, 
and faithfulness of the other. Henry had never talked 
with Ruth about Dinsmore, or with Dinsmore in refer- 
ence to Ruth; but there are nearly always numberless 
little things — expressions, looks, and actions — which 
indicate as clearly and as unmistakably the course of 
love, as bubbles on the surface of the stream indicate 
the direction of its current. And Henry had for some 
time not only believed, but hoped, that Ruth’s and 
Dinsmore’s admiration for each other was fast ripen- 
ing, if it had not already done so, into true love. He 
had not seen Ruth since his visit to his home after his 
escape from Frenchtown. 

Dinsmore, as we have seen, only returned to Fort 
Meigs a few days before Proctor’s attack; so that 
Henry was in complete ignorance of what had hap- 
pened at Cleveland. That day Henry’s duties kept 


War of 1812 


151 

him very busy ; but the following day he saw his sister. 
Upon his expressing surprise that she had not seen 
Captain Dinsmore, Ruth replied that it was her first 
duty to attend those assigned to her care. Henry 
could not gainsay this fact; but he was not satisfied. 
He well knew that something had happened of which 
he had no knowledge. In the meantime, the fact that 
Ruth had not visited him not only pained the sick 
man, but confirmed his opinion that she was false and 
fickle, and he resolved to keep all thoughts of her from 
his mind. But he could not; and in his weak con- 
diton his conflicting emotions of disappointment and 
hope began very materially to retard his recovery. At 
the same time Ruth began to feel in her heart that 
Dinsmore did not wish to see her, and the gulf be- 
tween them was growing wider and deeper each day. 

A few days later Henry held a conversation with 
Hentzler; and by adroit questioning learned that, al- 
though Ruth had arrived in Cleveland before Dins- 
more left, he had not even called to see her, and left 
the town without so much as leaving a message for 
her. Henry was not only perplexed; but he was be- 
coming more and more indignant toward his friend 
Dinsmore. He felt as though, if for no other reason, 
Dinsmore should at least have shown some respect 
and gratitude to Ruth for her kindness and care. In 
the meantime Dinsmore was not improving, and Ruth 
looked haggard. One day Henry said to himself, 
“Here is a mystery that I shall fathom.” He ques- 
tioned Ruth, and could learn nothing from her, except 
that she also was perplexed. He resolved to have a 
conversation with Dinsmore. 


152 


With British and Braves 


At this time, and about three weeks after Dinsmore 
received his wounds, Ruth at the close of day was sit- 
ting alone in her apartment; she was tired and de- 
jected. During her stay at the fort a conscientious 
conviction of having done her duty, the happiness of 
feeling that she was relieving pain and helping to 
assuage suffering, had cheered and comforted her. 
She had been so occupied with the sufferings of others, 
that she had little time to think of her own sorrows. 
But this evening she felt as though the last spark of 
hope was extinguished, and love’s bright and happy 
vision had disappeared forever ; the black night of dis- 
appointment and sorrow seemed to be enveloping her 
in gloom. Her love for Dinsmore not only had the 
fervent intensity of a maiden’s first and only love; but 
it combined all the romantic dreams of girlhood, all 
the hero worship of the times, all the admiration of the 
intellect with all the affections of a woman’s heart. 
Again she wept. 

There was a knock at the door of her apartment. 
Hastily drying her eyes and smoothing her disheveled 
hair, she opened the door. Before her stood an orderly 
and a very attractive young woman about Ruth’s age. 
The orderly, bowing very courteously, said: ‘‘Miss 
Wright, this is Miss Dinsmore, a sister of our brave 
Captain Dinsmore. She has come all the way from 
Kentucky to see, and, if possible, assist in the care 
of her brother; and as there are no other apartments 
suitable for ladies, I have been sent to ask if you will 
be so kind as to share yours with her.” “Certainly,” 
was the reply; and with most cordial greetings on the 
part of both young women. Miss Dinsmore entered 


War of 1812 


153 


Ruth s apartment. The new arrival was Mehetabel, 
or Hettiebelle, as she called herself. Almost her first 
words were, “How is Brother Johnson?” After being 
told that he was improving, but very slowly, Hettie- 
belle said: “I do not suppose that I can nurse him 
as well as you do. Brother Johnson used to write me 
from Cleveland so much about your kindness, and how 
much you did to relieve the sufferings of our poor, 
brave soldiers, that as soon as I learned of Johnson’s 
terrible wounds, I resolved, even against my mother’s 
protestations— although as a matter of fact, I think, 
she wanted to come, too — that I would imitate you, 
and come and help you nurse Johnson and all others 
who need care and attention.” 

These words not only pained but embarrassed 
Ruth ; but she quietly replied : “I am very sorry to say 
that I have not had the pleasure of seeing Captain 
Dinsmore since he left Cleveland. My duties have 
been in another apartment of the hospital, and I have 
been so closely confined there, that I have not had an 
opportunity to see him.” 

Hettiebelle was greatly surprised, and at the same 
time displeased; for in her sisterly affection for her 
brother he was in her eyes a great hero; and she 
had supposed, of course, that Ruth was taking special 
care of him; in fact, the possibility of anything else 
had never entered her mind. Besides, she imagined 
there was an air of indifference about Ruth’s manner. 
She looked at her more carefully than before. Ruth 
looked so sweet, and yet so sad and tired, and bore 
such evident signs of recent tears, that, with a per- 
plexed yet sympathetic feeling, she said: “I am very 


154 


With British and Braves 


sorry you have been unable to see my brother. He 
will miss your care very much, I know.” Ruth’s face 
colored slightly; but she made no reply. 

At that time women were not allowed in any part 
of the hospital during the night; and Hettiebelle, being 
unable to procure the necessary orders, awaited with 
great impatience for morning. The meeting of brother 
and sister was most affectionate. Hettiebelle bent 
over and tenderly kissed him, and then sat down by his 
side, and there spent most of the day. During the con- 
versation which occasionally took place between sister 
and brother (for Hettiebelle had orders not to talk too 
much) she spoke of the fact that she and Ruth Wright 
were occupying the same apartment, and how sur- 
prised she was to learn that Ruth had not even visited 
him since her arrival at the hospital. A cloud spread 
over Dinsmore’s features as his sister spoke of Ruth, 
and he replied: “So far as I am concerned, I am not 
particularly anxious to see her. You look surprised; 
but I will tell you frankly that I have been cruelly 
deceived by her ; and as you must, of necessity, be with 
her very much while you remain here, I will tell 
you what I never intended to impart to any one.” 
He then related how kindly and tenderly she had 
nursed him; how, at their first meeting, there was 
something about Ruth that had almost involuntarily 
and irresistibly drawn him towards her; how during 
the weeks in which she had cared for him and the 
others in the hospital at Cleveland he had learned not 
only to love her, but that he had believed her to be the 
very ideal and embodiment of all that is worthy, good. 


War of 1812 


155 


and noble in woman ; how while they had never 
pledged their love to each other in words, yet there 
were many, very many, things which had induced him 
to believe, and had given him a right, as he thought, 
to believe, that his love for her was fully reciprocated. 
He then related to his sister how he had sent a letter 
to Ruth, informing her of his intended visit to Cleve- 
land, almost solely and expressly for the purpose of 
seeing her; how immediately, upon the receipt of that 
letter, she had left, in order that she might not be em- 
barrassed by meeting him and Major Brown at the 
same time. He went somewhat into detail in reference 
to the facts which I have related. This recital not only 
greatly interested, but raised in the heart of the sym- 
pathizing sister a feeling of resentment towards the one 
who, she then thought, had used her almost sacred 
position as nurse, not with unselfish devotion, but with 
a cruel, coquettish love of conquest. 

That night Ruth felt that Hettiebelle’s manner was 
less cordial and more stiffly polite. A few days later 
Henry called to see Captain Dinsmore, for the ex- 
press purpose of having a plain talk; but he found his 
sister Hettiebelle sitting by his bedside. After the 
formality of an introduction and a short conversation 
Henry retired, disappointed, but saying to himself: 
^‘Dinsmore’s sister is a very sweet-looking and pretty 
girl ; but I hope she is not as fickle as her brother.’^ 

Soon after leaving Dinsmore, Henry again met 
Hentzler, and said: ‘T have just come from the bedside 
of Captain Dinsmore. He does not seem to recover 
as fast as he ought; and there is something strange 


With British and Braves 


156 

about his manner and actions. He does not seem to 
me to be the same man that he was before we parted 
after the bloody events at Frenchtown.” 

“I have never said anything about it,” replied Hentz- 
ler, “and perhaps I ought not to say anything to you; 
but I sometimes think that Dinsmore thought a great 
deal of Miss Wright, and that it troubled him when 
he heard of her engagement to Major Brown.” 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Henry, with 
surprise. “Who is Major Brown?” 

“O, you know; he is the Pennsylvania officer that 
is engaged to marry your sister.” 

“No,” said Henry ; “she is not engaged to him. I 
never even heard of him; and I am positive if Ruth 
were engaged to him I should have heard of it. Who 
told you that Ruth was engaged to Major Brown?” 

“Let me see — why, it was Miss Mixture. You 
know her. She told me; and as Ruth and the major 
were together a great deal, I supposed it was true.” 

Light dawned upon Henry. He thought a mo- 
ment, and then said: “That is simply Miss Mixture's 
gossip; but why do you think Dinsmore cared any- 
thing about it? Did you tell him that Ruth was en- 
gaged to Major Brown?” 

“Yes, I guess I did. He was asking me one day 
who Major Brown was. He said he had heard he was 
engaged to Miss Wright, and asked me if I had heard 
anything about it, and I told him I had heard they 
were engaged. He took on as though he did not care 
much about it; but I know better.” 

“What made you think so?” 

“Well, I can not just tell now: but he said some- 


War of 1812 


157 


thing about a letter he had written to her, telling her 
that he was going to visit her at Cleveland, and Miss 
Mixture told me that Ruth left Cleveland so as not 
to see Dinsmore and Brown together at the same time. 
Miss Mixture said it would be embarrassing if Ruth 
had two lovers to call to see her at once; and while I 
do not know anything about it, I think she told Dins- 
more, because you know Miss Mixture is a great 
talker.” 

Henry was silent for a moment. He made no 
reply, except to say: ‘'This is all news to me. I will 
see you again.” He passed on. 

Soon after this conversation with Hentzler, an as- 
sistant announced to Ruth, while she was attending to 
her duties in the hospital, that her brother wished to 
see her. Ruth and Henry then sought Ruth’s apart- 
ment, and Henry briefly related to her his conversation 
with Hentzler. Ruth was silent for a moment; but 
there was a peculiar brightness in her eyes. She had 
not been so happy for months. All was clear to her 
now, save and except the letter. She knew she had 
received none; but she recalled Miss Mixture’s con- 
versation. She felt sure that she had not only in- 
formed Captain Dinsmore of her engagement; but by 
her wicked skill she had brought about this sad and 
bitter estrangement. She said to herself, with an in- 
tensity of joy that completely drove away from her 
heart all feelings of resentment towards Miss Mixture: 
“This explains it all. He has loved me all this time. 
He thought me false, or believed me to be another’s; 
and if he loved me, it is no wonder he did not wish 
to see me. To think how I have neglected this poor. 


158 With British and Braves 

brave, suffering man;” and her feelings of happiness 
were saddened by the pains of regret and self-censure. 
At length she said to Henry — for, womanlike, she was 
not quite willing to let even her brother look into her 
heart and see her real feelings — “Perhaps Hentzler is 
mistaken about Captain Dinsmore taking any interest 
in the information which Hentzler gave him. But I 
think Hentzler ought to tell Captain Dinsmore not 
only that he was mistaken, and who his informant was, 
but also to say to Captain Dinsmore that I never re- 
ceived any such letter from him; and that I had no 
knowledge whatever of his intended trip to Cleveland.” 

“He shall do it,” said Henry, who now clearly un- 
derstood the real condition of affairs, except that he 
wondered what became of the letter. 

Shortly after Henry left Ruth’s apartment, Hettie- 
belle entered. During the few days which had elapsed 
since her arrival at the fort, Ruth had returned, to 
some extent, her formal politeness, and the two young 
women had made but little progress towards acquaint- 
ance or friendship. Yet on two occasions Hettiebelle 
had accompanied Ruth into that part of the hospital 
where Ruth’s duties lay, and she had watched her 
kindness and care, and had begun greatly to respect 
her. On the very day of which I am speaking, Hettie- 
belle said to herself: “There is some mistake. It does 
not seem possible that Miss Wright, with all her care 
and devotion to the sick, her gentleness, her kindness, 
and with all her air of sadness, can be actuated by 
other than disinterested and noble motives.” 

That evening, upon returning to her apartment, 
Hettiebelle found Ruth in much better spirits than 


War of 1812 


159 


she had ever seen her. Her manner was more cordial ; 
her eyes seemed to have a brighter luster, and she in- 
quired after Captain Dinsmore so earnestly and, as 
as Hettiebelle thought, so differently, that she could 
not but notice the change in Ruth’s manner. She 
said to her: “You must have had a very pleasant day, 
or have heard some good news. You seem to be in 
unusually good spirits this evening.” 

“Yes,” replied the other. “I am feeling happier 
than I have felt for a long time. I only hope that I 
may not be again disappointed. Perhaps some time 
I will tell you what I have learned to-day; but not 
now.” 

The next morning Hettiebelle was again at her 
brother’s bedside, when Hentzler approached, and was 
most cordially greeted by the sick man and his sister. 
He sat down by Dinsmore’s bed, and, after some gen- 
eral conversation, said: “Captain, I have just learned 
something; not that you care anything about it, or 
that it makes any difference to you one way or the 
other; but I thought I would tell you that what I told 
you in Cleveland about Ruth Wright is not true.” 

“What do you mean?” said Dinsmore, looking up 
with ill-concealed interest. 

“You may remember,” continued Hentzler, “that 
when you were in Cleveland, I told you that Miss 
Wright was going to marry that Pennsylvania officer. 
Major Brown. Well, there is nothing in it. I thought 
I was telling the truth; Miss Mixture told me; but I 
have since learned that she is a meddlesome gossip.” 

Hettiebelle looked at her brother, and scanned his 
features closely, with an expression which said, “I told 


i6o 


With British and Braves 


you so/’ Dinsmore, for the first time since he had been 
wounded, raised himself partially up from his bed, and 
looked almost angrily at his friend, and said: ^‘But why 
did you not tell me from w^hom you received your in- 
formation? 1 supposed you knew the truth of what 
you said. Are you positive Miss Mixture was the 
one who told you?” 

“I am sure of it, and I will tell you why I thought 
she was telling me the truth. After Henry came back 
from Frenchtown, he sent a letter to Ruth by some 
fur-buyers, who were working for Mr. Mixture, and 
Miss Mixture brought over the letter. She staid some 
time at our house, talking about one thing and an- 
other — you know she is a great talker — so that when 
she got ready to go home it was after dark, and while 
I do not go in her class, I went home with her that 
night; for I thought she might be kind of afraid; and 
on the way home we were talking about you, and I 
said I wished you would get to Cleveland before you 
went South. I had heard that you were going down 
to Kentucky to raise a company, and I said that I did 
not think you were coming; for I thought Ruth 
Wright would like to see you; and that I did not think 
she would leave for home just then if you were com- 
ing, as she had said, after reading Henry’s letter, that 
she was going home to see him. Miss Mixture an- 
swered me, and said: ‘That is the very reason I think 
Dinsmore is coming. I suppose you know that Ruth 
is engaged to Major Brown, and as she thinks Dins- 
more admires her — and between us, while Ruth is a 
splendid girl, Dinsmore never cared a snap for her, 
only as he is grateful to her for her nursing and care. 


War of 1812 


161 


But you see,’ she went on, ‘as long as Ruth thinks he 
cares something for her, she does not want him to 
come while Major Brown is here. You know,’ and she 
laughed, ‘it is awfully embarrassing for a girl to have 
two beaus at once in the same house, especially if she 
has promised to marry one of them. It is apt to 
create a fuss; and Major Brown is going away soon, 
and when he goes Ruth will come back. Now, you 
see if I ain’t right.’ 

“Well, the day after Major Brown left Cleveland 
Ruth did come back; so you see I thought Miss Mix- 
ture told the truth; and not only that, but I must say 
I did not have quite so much respect for Miss Wright 
as I had before; and perhaps you remember, I felt, as 
your friend, a little vexed about it; not that I supposed 
you cared; and I told you at the time that it looked 
as though Ruth left so as not to see you and Major 
Brown together; and I thought you did just right, 
even if she had nursed you so kindly, to go and see an- 
other girl the night before you left, and show Miss 
Wright that there were other deer in the woods be- 
sides her.” 

“But,” said Dinsmore, still more interested and 
excited, “one thing I do not yet quite understand: 
why did Miss Wright leave so suddenly just as she 
knew I was coming to Cleveland; for I wrote her I 
was coming, and sent the letter by the same party that 
took Henry’s letter.” 

“I was just going to speak of that,”replied Hentz- 
ler, “when you broke in upon me. I have learned 
something about that letter, and something which has 
made me have some bad thoughts that I will not 

II 


i 62 


With British and Braves 


speak of, because I may be on the wrong track; but, 
no matter how it might have come about, I am sure 
of one thing: Miss Wright never got your letter. She 
did not know that you were coming, and she went 
home — as she naturally would — to see her brother 
after the terrible time he had among the redskins at 
Frenchtown. As I said, I do not want to think evil 
of any one, but it is kind of queer how Miss Mixture 
guessed that you were coming, and how, after you had 
spent several evenings with her, she should boast to 
Miss Wright that you had made love to her.” 

“The false creature!” exclaimed Miss Dinsmore; 
“she kept that letter; but it served you just right to 
leave a good and true woman, as I believe Miss Wright 
is, for a false, characterless creature like Miss Mix- 
ture. It is curious what little sense young men have 
in their judgment of girls. 1 have been thinking for 
some time that there was some mistake, and that you 
had falsely judged Miss Wright.” 

Dinsmore made no reply. His emotions were too 
painful for expression. Hentzler watched his face, 
and not being able exactly to analyze Dinsmore’s feel- 
ings, he began to fear that he had not only been talk- 
ing to the sick man too long, but that he ought not 
to have related these things; and he arose to depart, 
saying: “I hope. Captain Dinsmore, that I have not 
tired you, and perhaps I ought not to have said any- 
thing about these things; but as I had told you what 
I found out afterwards was not true, I thought I ought 
to tell you what I know.” 

“O no,” replied Dinsmore, “you have not tired 
me in the least, and I can assure you I am very glad 


War of 1812 


163 

you have told me what you have to-day. In fact, to 
be honest with you, I wish I had known these things 
long before.” 

After Hentzler left, Dinsmore and his sister were 
silent for some time. At length Dinsmore said, in 
what seemed almost like a low moan, “What a miser- 
able, blind, ungrateful fool I have been!” and then, 
after a few moments’ pause, he added, “Miss Wright 
never can, and never will, have any respect for or 
confidence in me again.” 

Hettiebelle had watched with anxious care the 
strong emotions of her brother, and she began to feel 
alarmed lest his excitement should bring about a 
serious relapse, and, bending over him, she kissed 
him tenderly, and said: “Nonsense, brother; do not 
think about this any more. If Ruth is the dear, sweet, 
true, sensible girl that you think she is, you will before 
many days think more of each other than ever before. 
The air is always purer after a thunderstorm, you 
know. But you are tired and excited. You must be 
careful, or this day’s excitement will injure you. I 
can assure you, brother, that it will all come out 
right; and then,” she added, with a smile, “you may 
spell that word both ways.” 

Nothing is so pleasing to the average girl — except 
it is to be in love herself — as to be a “go-between” in 
an affair of the heart; and especially is this true if 
one of the parties is a brother. With such assistance 
obstacles soon vanish, difficulties disappear, misunder- 
standings are cleared up, and the course of true love 
finds its proper channel, and its current becomes 
smooth. 


164 


With British and Braves 


After a few moments of silence, Hettiebelle said: 
'‘Johnson, how would you like to see Miss Wright, 
or are you too tired to see her to-day? I am afraid 
you are.” 

“I would like to see her very much, if she will be 
willing to come ; and I shall not be as much exhausted 
by to-morrow if I can see her to-day as I shall be 
if I do not. It seems to me as though I can not wait.” 

“Be quiet, then,” said his sister, “and after dinner 
I will bring her with me, I am sure;” and so saying 
she left the room. 

After dinner Ruth and Hettiebelle were alone in 
their apartment. Ruth had learned of Hentzler’s in- 
terview, and she was full of hopeful but anxious ex- 
pectancy. Hettiebelle said to her: “Are you going 
to be very busy this afternoon?” 

“Not especially so,” was the reply. 

“If you have time,” said Hettiebelle, “I wish you 
would call with me and see brother Johnson. You 
have not seen him since he was so badly hurt, and I 
think it would do him good to see you.” 

Ruth replied, while a flush of pleasure passed over 
her countenance, “I should very much like to see him 
if I were sure my visit would be agreeable.” 

“I am certain he will be very much pleased to see 
you. To be frank and plain, I am going to tell you 
what I think. You and brother Johnson have had 
some misunderstanding, and if you will only see each 
other and talk it over like sensible people, you will 
soon be as good friends as ever, and I should not won- 
der but even better.” 


War of 1812 


165 

Ruth answered: “I can assure you that I shall be 
very much pleased to see him.” 

But her looks and her manner spoke much more 
emphatically than her words the pleasure, the joy, she 
anticipated, not only in seeing him, but in removing 
the wall of separation that had so unfortunately been 
raised between them. 

“But,” said Ruth, “I must first see the surgeon in 
charge, and get a permit. You know it would not do 
for me to go into an apartment not connected with my 
duties without his permission.” 

“I will see him, and tell him that I want you to go 
with me and see my brother, and as he knows how 
well you nursed him in Cleveland, I am sure I can get 
his consent.” 

“Well, you get the permit, and I will be ready in 
a moment,” Ruth answered. 

But she was not; for she spent more time that 
afternoon upon her toilet than she had done for a 
whole week previous. / 

As they started for the apartment where Dinsmore 
lay, Ruth felt as though she could almost hear her 
heart throb. As she approached Dinsmore’s couch, 
he extended his hand, and said, “I am very glad to 
see you.” 

She replied, “I am very much pleased to see you.” 

They clasped each other’s hands; the words were 
simple, and could easily have been counterfeited. The 
clasping of hands was commonplace, and might have 
had but little significance; but there was something in 
their looks and manner that could not be assumed; 


With British and Braves 


1 66 

something in the trembling of the hand of each while 
in the clasp of the other that could not be fictitious. 
There is something that the God of Love puts into 
the eyes of true lovers when they meet that is the most 
difficult thing in this world to counterfeit. Both were 
happy. Hettiebelle said to Johnson, as Ruth seated 
herself beside his couch: 'T have watched you, my 
brother, pretty faithfully ; still I believe you prefer your 
old nurse, and I will leave you in her charge while I 
take a little rest.” 

Dinsmore at that moment would have given half 
his kingdom — if he had possessed one — to have been, 
weak as he was, where he could have enfolded Ruth 
in his arms. 

Ruth said to Hettiebelle: think you are dreadful 
lazy to-day to leave your brother so quickly ; but I will 
try and take care of him for a little while.” 

Hettiebelle had scarcely left, when Johnson, turn- 
ing to Ruth, said: ‘T fear that I have wronged you. 
I will be frank, and acknowledge to you that I have 
not only acted unmanly and unkindly towards you, 
but I have done worse; I have entertained unkind 
and unmanly thoughts in reference to you. But I hope 
you will forgive me.” 

She placed her hand upon his, and said: ‘'O, Cap- 
tain, you are sick, and I fear that you are tired. Let 
us not talk to-day about that. This is not the time 
for explanations. Let us forget all about the past, 
and just have faith and confidence in each other; and 
then some time in the future, when we have an oppor- 
tunity, we will explain everything that may need ex- 
planation.” 


War of 1812 


167 


‘‘O, thank you,” replied Dinsmore; “you are so 
kind; for I feel that I have been entirely to blame.” 

“O no,” interrupted Ruth; “let us not talk about 
who was to blame. I am as much at fault as you; and 
I really think that it is neither of us, only perhaps we 
were too easily deceived. Let us simply resolve that 
in the future we will have more faith in each other, and 
not be so easily misled by circumstances and false- 
hoods. But you are too weak now to talk of this 
matter any more.” 

They then conversed for some time, but without 
further mention of the cause of their mutual estrange- 
ment; for both felt themselves partly to blame; and, 
besides, each felt happy and not inclined to blame 
any one, and especially each other. They not only 
felt that the chasm between them had been bridged, 
but that they were better friends than ever. 

At length Ruth said: “Captain, I must go; you 
have talked more than you should to-day; you are 
tired. You must now rest. But I will not neglect 
you in the future, and will come and see you often.” 

“O, do not call me Captain; call me Johnson, and 
come and see me very often, and I know I shall soon 
be well and strong again; and if I did not think you 
would be offended, I would call you Ruth. I think 
that is a sweet, pretty name, and some girls are ap- 
propriately named.” 

“O, you flatterer! I think you must be getting 
better.” She held out her hand, and said: “Good-bye, 
Johnson. I will come often; and if you never do any- 
thing worse than call me Ruth, I shall never be dis- 
pleased with you again.” 


i68 


With British and Braves 


That night Ruth looked out from her apartment. 
For many days before, the sky had been overspread 
with clouds. They had disappeared. It was a beauti- 
ful moonlight June evening. The full, resplendent 
moon hung high in the heavens. She could see the 
broad, forest-lined Maumee; and far across the river, 
a little below the fort on the high banks, she could 
just discern the dim outlines of the gloomy forest 
where so many of Dudley’s brave men fell, while close 
at hand, on the right bank of the river, just below the 
fort, and running thence easterly, the dimly-defined 
outlines of the wooded ravine, in which but a short 
time since Tecumseh and his savage horde lay con- 
cealed before they set out to surround Clay’s troops. 
She looked out over the clear space lying between her 
and the dark, tangled forest to the east, towards which 
her lover, with the horrid painted savages in full view, 
had so gloriously ridden, and she shuddered as she 
thought of that dreadful but heroic ride. The scene 
on every side was lovely. It seemed indescribably 
beautiful to her happy and joyful soul, and she said to 
herself: “How quiet and peaceful; how beautiful and 
lovely! An omen of the peace and happiness that is 
before me. The battle is over; victory is ours; the 
clouds have disappeared; the moon has risen; my sor- 
row has vanished; my lover is mine.” 

Just then, in the still, dark forests, she heard the 
sharp, quick, savage barking of a pack of hungry 
wolves. She had often heard that same cry; but never 
before had this sound so impressed her. After watch- 
ing the scene for a few moments, a cloud began to 
obscure the moon. The wolves commenced to howl 


War of 1812 


169 


more savagely than before; and she said to herself, 
with a tinge of sadness: “No; the danger is not yet 
over. These are dreadful times. The savage wolf 
lurks in the woods; the cruel Indian stalks in the for- 
est; the English are not yet defeated; the evil passions 
of mankind are still unsubdued.” She turned away 
from the scene, happy, yet with a vague, indefinable 
dread, and sought her bed. Hettiebelle had been 
sleeping for two hours. 


Chapter IX 


In order better to understand the rest of my story, 
I must describe the events of the war in the North- 
west for the next few months. 

As soon as Harrison was certain of Proctor’s flight, 
he left Fort Meigs for Upper Sandusky, and from 
there proceeded to Cleveland, ordering the entire 
country, from the mouth of the Maumee to the Cuya- 
hoga, to be patrolled by armed bands of soldiers, so 
that the lake settlements might be protected from a 
sudden descent of the exasperated foe. But this pre- 
caution was taken more particularly to prevent the 
setlements from being robbed and plundered, and the 
inhabitants murdered, by roving bands of Indians, 
who were not unfrequently led by some renegade 
white man, who was worse than his Indian associates. 

Ohio had caught the enthusiasm of Kentucky, and 
evidences of courage, patriotism, and enthusiasm were 
manifest everywhere. Proctor was a striking example 
of the union of cruelty and cowardice. He was so 
discouraged by his failure at Fort Meigs that he aban- 
doned all designs of making any further attack upon 
the American frontier. But Tecumseh was not so 
easily discouraged. He was aware of the fact that a 
considerable portion of the troops, by which Harri- 
son defended Fort Meigs, were scattered along the 
frontier between Cleveland and Maumee ; and Tecum- 
seh continually urged Proctor again to attack Fort 
170 


War of 1812 


171 

Meigs. But Proctor was reluctant, until at length 
Tecumseh informed him that unless something was 
done the Indian braves would soon scatter, and worse, 
that many of them would lose faith in Proctor and the 
British, and would join the Americans. At length, 
in the latter part of July, Proctor, through the influ- 
ence, energy, and skill of Tecumseh, collected nearly 
all the Indians of the Northwest together at Malden, 
who, with Proctor’s own command, made an army 
of nearly five thousand men. After the assembling 
of this large number of savages, notwithstanding the 
fact that the American frontier was patrolled by com- 
panies of armed men, bands of Indians began to over- 
run the lake-shore region from the Maumee almost 
to the Cuyahoga, killing and plundering whenever 
opportunity occurred, and occasionally carrying away 
prisoners, especially women and children. These sav- 
ages would suddenly appear in one section terrible 
messengers of fire, destruction, and death, and, before 
opposing forces could reach them, they would sud- 
denly disappear in the trackless, unbroken forest. On 
returning to Malden they were supplied with arms, 
food, and clothing by the British. Tecumseh, how- 
ever, became more than ever impatient at this pro- 
longed inaction, as his Indian warriors were ready and 
anxious for battle. He knew that, without some deci- 
sive action, this great body could not long be kept 
together. He demanded of Proctor an immediate at- 
tack upon Fort Meigs, and submitted to him an in- 
genious and well-formed plan for its capture by strat- 
egy. The plan was so well designed and so admirably 
executed that nothing but a fortunate circumstance 


172 


With British and Braves 


prevented the success of Tecumseh’s plan, the destruc- 
tion of the fort, and the capture of the entire garrison. 
Tecumseh purposely let it be known that the British 
and Indians intended to make an attack upon the 
fort by allowing a prisoner to escape. The prisoner 
fled, as Tecumseh supposed he would, to Fort Meigs, 
and informed General Clay of the proposed attack 
by the great number of British and Indians assembled 
at Malden. Clay at once sent word, by Henry Wright, 
to Harrison, at Upper Sandusky, requesting re-en- 
forcements. But Harrison understood the character 
of the man opposed to him. He knew that Proctor 
was a coward ; that Tecumseh was brave and skillful. 
He also knew that Fort Meigs, if properly defended, 
could not be taken by a sudden attack, and that for 
a siege, the Indians, even under so skillful a com- 
mander as Tecumseh, would be of little avail. Harri- 
son, instead of sending a body of re-enforcements to 
General Clay, sent Wright back with a message, not 
only advising Clay of the commander-in-chiefls views, 
but at the same time warning him to beware of being 
taken by surprise or falling into some trap of his cun- 
ning foe, and further informing Clay that should a 
siege be undertaken, Harrison would promptly send 
the necessary re-enforcements.* 

Between Upper Sandusky and Fort Meigs a very 
fair military road had already been constructed. 
Henry took this road and followed it until he was 
about four miles from Fort Meigs. In the season of 
July, in all that country which used to be known as 


* History speaks of this messenger as McCune. 


War of 1812 


173 


the black swamp/’ which now comprises some of the 
finest farms and agricultural lands in the world, the 
forests were so dense with undergrowth, the ground 
so soft and spongy, the mosquitoes and flies so numer- 
ous, that it was with great difficulty that a person 
could travel, and, at best, the progress was very tedi- 
ous and slow. Wright was well aware that he would 
be exposing himself to danger should he follow the 
military road until he reached the fort ; but as no In- 
dians had been seen in the vicinity for some time, 
and as less than four days had elapsed since he left, 
he did not believe the British had yet arrived, or that 
the woods were infested with savages. Still he pro- 
ceeded with great caution. In order that he might 
not be seen for any considerable distance, he kept 
close to the edge of the forest on one side of the road, 
and often, not only stopped and listened, but placed 
his ear to the ground, to catch, if possible, the warn- 
ing sound of the approach or presence of an enemy. 
He had proceeded this way until he was only about 
two miles and a half from the fort, when, some way, 
he felt impressed with the idea that to proceed farther 
meant death. In this prosaic, matter-of-fact age, we 
have but little faith in presentiments ; but, without stop- 
ping in a vain endeavor to explain the unexplainable, 
it is a fact too well established, not only by the authen- 
tic history of the past, but by the occasional expe- 
rience of the present, that men, in times of danger, 
do have presentiments of that danger. Henry felt 
this presentiment. He said to himself, “I believe 
that the enemy is lurking in the woods.” He had 
seen no sign of the concealed foe, but he felt their 


174 


With British and Braves 


presence. He also realized, with this feeling, the 
greater necessity of reaching the fort and delivering 
his message. To proceed along the road would in- 
vite death and failure. To plunge into the forest 
meant great, perhaps fatal, , delay. He made an at- 
tempt to discover the presence or absence of the In- 
dians by a little stratagem. First, he had determined 
to do that which a scout, a hunter, is, of all things, 
most loath to do; that is, should he become satisfied 
of the presence of the Indians, to work his way 
through the thick forest without the aid of his gun, 
which, in the bushes, would be of but little assistance, 
and might materially retard his progress. But as this 
gun was, in his eyes, almost invaluable, he first looked 
for a suitable place in which to secrete it. He stepped 
into the woods, and finding a big, fallen log, at the 
side of which he thought he could place his gun so 
^that it would not be readily found, he carefully secreted 
it, and then fired his pistol into the air. This shot he 
immediately followed by imitating an Indian war- 
whoop. His stratagem had the anticipated effect. 
He heard the cries of the Indians in the forest close 
by him, and between him and the fort. Cautiously, 
but as rapidly as possible, he moved into the forest 
in a southwesterly direction from the military road. 
Fortunately for him, he had not proceeded far enough 
to be surrounded by the savages, though many of them 
were not far from him. Then commenced a race for 
life through the thick and tangled forest. But to over- 
take Henry was much beyond the skill and speed of 
his savage pursuers. He did not fear being captured 
as much as he did the delay caused by his being com- 


War of 1812 


175 


pelled to flee from his savage foes. And further, he 
fully realized that in all probabilities the savages had 
entirely surrounded the fort, and that it would be im- 
possible to reach it from any direction. But he kept 
on working his way slowly through the thick, heavy 
forest, until, at length, the sun went down, and the 
forest, which even in daylight was dark and gloomy, 
became, in the night, absolutely devoid of a ray of 
light — the very intensity of darkness itself. For a 
time, guided entirely by the sense of feeling, he groped 
his way along. At length, realizing that it would 
be impossible to reach the fort that night, and well 
knowing that no savage beast was lurking in a forest 
so full of men, he wrapped his blanket around him, 
and, sitting partially upright, leaning against a tree, 
fell asleep ; but the rustling of a leaf, the snapping of 
a twig, or the catlike tread of an Indian would have 
immediately aroused him. 

Just as the sun was beginning to announce in the 
treetops the coming of day, and while the woods were 
still dark, Henry commenced again his dangerous 
journey toward the fort. He proceeded very slowly 
and with great caution. In this way, at about nine 
o’clock in the morning, he had nearly reached the 
edge of the forest to the south and east of the fort, 
near the place where Dinsmore was so badly wounded. 
Between him and the fort lay the cleared space over 
which Dinsmore had so gallantly ridden to save his 
comrades. He knew that the savages were in the 
woods all around him, and he wondered at having 
eluded them so far ; but he knew that the moment he 
stepped into the open space he would be discovered. 


176 


With British and Braves 


and become the target of more than a score of guns. 
But to proceed cautiously any farther was in vain, 
and he resolved to make a bold dash, and trust to his 
speed and the inaccuracy of the savages’ aim for his 
safety. Having thus resolved — although he knew it 
was a perilous undertaking — he slipped along noise- 
lessly, but quite rapidly, in the thin woods which 
skirted the opening. Fortunately, he had already 
placed some distance between him and the woods be- 
fore he was discovered. He well knew the peculiar 
characteristics of the savages. He knew that, as soon 
as he was discovered, they would immediately set up a 
cry and shout of alarm, instead of doing, as a white 
man would have done, fire at him before giving the 
alarm. No sooner did he hear the savage yell an- 
nouncing his discovery, than he sprang forward with 
all possible speed, but dodging hither and thither, 
springing first one way and then another, to disconcert 
the aim of the savages. The bullets flew around him 
thick and fast; one grazed his arm, and one cut his 
coat close to his ribs ; but, providentially, no bullet 
reached its mark, and he was soon beyond the range 
of the enemy’s shot, and reached the fort in safety. 

He immediately reported to General Clay, and 
delivered General Harrison’s message. He then par- 
took of the first meal he had eaten since the noon 
before, and soon after lay down to rest and sleep ; for 
his journey had been an extremely tiresome one, and 
the previous night’s sleep was far from being com- 
plete and refreshing. 

During the time that had elapsed since the British 
repulse at Fort Meigs — for it was now July 25th — 


War of 1812 


177 


most of the wounded had either heard their last bugle- 
call, or had so far recovered as to have departed for 
their homes. Dinsmore and his sister had accepted 
a cordial invitation from Ruth, and were about to 
start for her home on the Huron River, intending to 
remain there a few days, and then proceed to Ken- 
tucky. But their plans had been frustrated, or at 
least postponed, by the arrival of Proctor’s and Te- 
cumseh’s forces. I find it nowhere so stated in the 
history of those times, but I very strongly suspect that 
Dinsmore was in no hurry to start home. Under the 
circumstances, he naturally was anxious to become 
quite well and strong before leaving the fort, espe- 
cially as, since the departure of the others, Ruth had, 
or at least took, more time to care for him, although in 
reality he was under no special need of any nurse’s 
care. And while she had a full sense of her duties 
and responsibilities as an army nurse, neither she nor 
Dinsmore was quite able — though they thought they 
were — to conceal their feelings towards each other. 
But both thought that it would be very nice and 
pleasant for Johnson to visit at Ruth’s home before 
his return to Kentucky. It had also been arranged 
that Henry was to go home at the same time, and 
Hettiebelle had begun to think that a visit at Henry’s 
home would be very pleasant, especially if he was 
going to be there. There had been no love-making 
between Henry and Hettiebelle. Henry had treated 
her, not only with .the courtesy and gallantry that a 
true soldier pays to a good and attractive woman, 
but with the additional feeling of friendship and cor- 
diality which his strong attachment for her brother, 
12 


178 


With British and Braves 


combined with the knowledge of Ruth’s and John- 
son’s love for each other, would naturally produce; 
nothing more. Charlotte was too dear to him, and 
he was too true-hearted even to think of allowing 
any one else to take her place in his affections. Henry 
was naturally very diffident in the society of the op- 
posite sex ; and until he met Hettiebelle, he had never 
been well enough acquainted with any young lady, 
except Charlotte, to be able to throw off that awk- 
ward, embarrassed, and restrained feeling that often 
tortures bashful young men in the society of young 
ladies. But Hettiebelle’s society had become very 
pleasant to him. He had entirely thrown off that feel- 
ing. Ruth and Hettiebelle had also become sincerely 
attached to each other. Hettiebelle looked upon Ruth, 
not only as one who had helped to save the life of her 
brother, but as one whom he truly loved. Ruth saw 
in Hettiebelle the sister of the only man she had ever 
loved; but they would have been friends without 
these circumstances. 

It is said that for persons to become the warmest 
and the best of friends they must be unlike ; that those 
who are similar in character, temperament, and dis- 
position do not make the best and most lasting friends. 
This is partly true and partly false. For persons to 
make the best and truest friends they must have com- 
mon moral principles. They must have the same 
conceptions of right and wrong. The superstructure 
only must be different. So it was with these young 
women. They were alike in motives ; were governed 
by the same controlling principles of right and wrong ; 


War of 1812 


179 


but very different in their actions and external char- 
acteristics. Hettiebelle was quick, impulsive, gener- 
ous, sympathetic, and changeable in her moods. She 
was like a beautiful April day, when shower follows 
sunshine, and sunshine follows shower, and the sun, 
shining through the raindrops, makes everything so 
beautiful that we are thankful for the rain, even if, 
perchance, we get wet. Ruth was more sedate and 
quiet, not so easily excited, but more permanent in 
her moods, whether of sunshine or shadow. She 
was more like a September day, quiet, calm, beautiful, 
yet when the storms come they do not so quickly 
pass away. They differed in impulses and actions, 
but never in motives and principles. The same rule 
of conscience controlled each ; the same patriotic 
love of country, the same purity of thought and noble- 
ness of purpose. Ruth was like clear, quiet water 
drawn from some mountain spring; Hettiebelle like 
the same pure water, coming from the same fountain- 
head, but taken from the foaming, rushing, bubbling, 
gurgling mountain stream; alike, yet different in ex- 
ternal characteristics. Such were Ruth and Hettie- 
belle, and such persons make the best and truest 
friends. And while Ruth’s friendship and admiration 
for her cousin, whom she thought to be a dear, sweet, 
good girl, was very strong, yet she not only shared 
in part her mother’s feelings, but like very many 
others, she was opposed to the marriage of cousins, 
and would have been greatly pleased had Henry’s 
affections been given to Hettiebelle instead of Char- 
lotte. She often said to herself : 'T wish Henry would 


i8o 


With British and Braves 


fall in love with Hettiebelle. I know he could win 
her love if he would only try.” But she never breathed 
this thought to any one. 

Towards the close of the afternoon of the day upon 
which Henry returned to the fort, Hettiebelle, Ruth, 
and Johnson were sitting together upon a rough, 
wooden bench just outside of one of the blockhouses 
which had been used for the purpose of a hospital. 
They were not aware that Henry had returned; for, 
during the previous twenty-four hours there had been 
considerable random firing, so that their attention 
was not particularly called to the shots which were 
fired at him on his run to the fort. They had been 
silent for some time, all of them absorbed with their 
own gloomy thoughts. At length Johnson said : 

‘Tt is now five days since Henry left with dis- 
patches for General Harrison. It seems to me we 
ought to hear something from him or General Harri- 
son by this time. I am afraid we have not a sufficient 
force to defend the fort against both Proctor^s and 
Tecumseh’s men. It makes me shudder to think of 
what may be before us, and that you two will now be 
compelled to remain here. You both ought to have 
left when we first received word of Proctor’s intended 
attack.” 

Ruth, for some reason, glanced almost involun- 
tarily around her, and then, placing her hand softly 
upon Johnson’s, said: “We could not have escaped 
if we had tried, without being exposed to more danger 
than we are here. We are just as safe as you are, and 
besides, we may be needed before long. O, I tremble 
to think of it! But I am not going to desert my 


War of 1812 


181 


post because there is danger, and I certainly shall 
not so long as you are here. You know,” she said, 
looking at him as only a girl in love can look, “we 
are to share together the storm as well as the sun- 
shine.” 

“Brave girl,” — he was interrupted by a noise, as 
though several hundred guns had been fired at once 
in the woods to the east. The firing increased every 
moment, and, mingled with the noise of the guns, 
could be distinctly heard the savage war-cries of a 
great number of fighting Indians. The fort was in- 
stantly in a state of intense, but disciplined, military 
excitement. Word was passed from officer to officer, 
and from soldier to soldier, that Harrison’s expected 
re-enforcements were being ambuscaded and cut to 
pieces in the woods close at hand. But General Clay, 
anxious and thoughtful, gave no orders. The firing 
became more and more furious, the shouting of the 
Indians more animated, the cry of attack changed 
into the sharper and more exultant shouts of victory. 
General Clay, surrounded by most of the officers of 
his command, was in full view of not only the soldiers, 
but Johnson, his sister, and Ruth. Johnson looked 
at General Clay in surprise, which, after the lapse of 
a few moments, seemed to turn into sorrow mingled 
with anger and contempt. Ruth’s blue eyes began to 
assume that glittering gray appearance, which, as we 
have seen, characterized her brother in times of un- 
usual intensity of feeling. Hettiebelle could not con- 
trol her feelings. Turning passionately and excitedly 
to her brother, she said : “O, Johnson, why does not 
General Clay send men to rescue General Harrison 




i 82 


With British and Braves 


and his men ? O dear, O dear ! and besides, Henry” — 
she had always spoken of him as Mr. Wright be- 
fore — '‘is probably killed and scalped,” and she be- 
gan to cry. 

Ruth looked at Dinsmore, and instead of calling 
him Johnson, she said: "Captain, why does General 
Clay act so indifferently ?” 

"It is strange,” he slowly answered. "General 
Clay is a brave man and a true soldier, but his con- 
duct is to me unexplainable.” 

In the meantime the fight in the woods was main- 
tained with great animation and vigor. Sometimes 
the Indians would advance rapidly, with loud and 
triumphant shouts of victory. Again they would be 
forced back a little, only to charge more furiously 
than before. At length indignation among Clay’s 
officers and men became so great as almost to cause 
a mutiny, especially among the Kentucky militia, who 
boldly demanded that they be allowed to proceed to 
Harrison’s assistance. General Clay was troubled. He 
sent for Henry, and questioned him for a moment. 
Then, turning to his angry and impatient officers and 
men, he said: "I have General Harrison’s message, 
in which he informs me that he shall send no troops 
at present. No one else can. Besides, I am informed 
by our trustworthy messenger that there are no troops 
on their way here. I can not understand this con- 
flict; it certainly seems too animated, too intense, not 
to be real. And while I admire your courage and 
the devotion which you show to your brave com- 
mander, General Harrison, I am convinced that he 
is not near, and that it would be unwise to allow you 


War of 1812 183 

now to leave the fort. I will take the whole respon- 
sibility ; you must not leave the fort.” 

This quieted but did not fully convince either 
men or officers. But soon afterwards the firing be- 
gan to grow less and less frequent, the shouting less 
loud and animated, and then all was quiet. 

As Henry withdrew from General Clay, he was 
first observed by Hettiebelle, who exclaimed: “Why, 
there is Mr. Wright now.” 

“Sure enough,” said Ruth. “Where could he have 
come from?” 

A moment later Henry joined the other three, 
and soon explained how he reached the fort, and his 
belief, not only that Clay had acted wisely, but he 
seemed to feel a little natural and justifiable pride in 
the fact that General Clay had been, to a great ex- 
tent, influenced by his opinions. All expressed great 
pleasure and joy at Henry’s safe return, and Hettie- 
belle added : “I was so much afraid, Mr. Wright, that 
you would be killed.” 

“Yes, Henry, look at her,” said Johnson, with a 
sort of mischievous twinkle in his eye; “she has just 
been crying like a child for fear that you were being 
shot.” 

Hettiebelle blushed as Henry looked at her, but 
she answered : “Of course I did, and I am not ashamed 
of it either. It was enough to make any one cry 
to think of a friend being exposed to such danger.” 

Hettiebelle had large, brown eyes, in whose lus- 
trous depths were mirrored, with faithful exactness, 
the various moods and impulses of her generous, 
sympathetic nature. Nothing more enhances the 


184 


With British and Braves 


beauty of a true woman than real, generous tears. 
When a young man sees a handsome, generous, 
sympathetic young woman bathed in tears, and her 
cheeks reddened with a slight tinge of shame, with 
which modesty, not conscience, paints her cheeks, 
and he realizes that these tears of sympathy were shed 
in his behalf, he must be made out of dull, passion- 
less clay, or else he is in great danger of being 
wounded by more than one arrow from the bow of 
the little god of love. And for the first time, and in 
spite of Henry’s affection for Charlotte, in spite of 
his constant nature, he felt that Hettiebelle was a 
wonderfully sweet and beautiful girl. Had Charlotte 
then seen him, and divined his feelings, I fear a pang 
of jealousy would have entered her heart. 

Night came on soon after the firing and the noise 
in the woods ceased. General Clay passed an in- 
tensely anxious night. He felt that his course had 
been right and prudent; but he well knew that if the 
morning should prove that he had been mistaken, he 
would be branded as a heartless, incompetent coward. 

Soon after sunrise the next morning, scouts were 
sent out from the fort. The enemy had disappeared, 
and it was learned that the battle, which had been 
apparently so furiously fought in the woods, was 
simply a stratagem of the cunning Tecumseh ; that 
in the ravine, of which I have spoken before, and 
which lay to the north and east of the fort, was se- 
creted a large body of British regulars. Had Clay 
either not been informed by Henry, or had he dis- 
played less firmness and resolution, and sent men out 
to rescue supposed re-enforcements, those sent would 


War of 1812 


185 


have been immediately surrounded and cut to pieces, 
and the fort would have been taken, and not one would 
have escaped death or capture. When these facts be- 
came known, the humility of the officers who so boldly 
demanded that they be sent forth, can better be im- 
agined than described ; and with the keenness of this 
feeling of humiliation, and the knowledge of how near 
they came to being entirely destroyed, came a respect 
and admiration for General Clay’s wisdom and firm- 
ness. Had he been wrong, he would have been igno- 
minious ; he was right, and he was glorious. 

Greatly mortified at the complete failure of the 
so carefully and skillfully planned stratagem, the Brit- 
ish, with a portion of the Indians, immediately em- 
barked, and sailed down the river, for the purpose of 
making an attack upon Fort Stephenson. A num- 
ber of the Indians, however, marched across the 
country for the purpose of co-operating with Proctor 
in that siege. Fort Stephenson was under the com- 
mand of a gallant young Kentuckian, who was about 
to immortalize himself, for as long as the history of 
America shall be read, the glorious defense of Fort 
Stephenson will continue to stimulate patriotism and 
shed luster upon American arms. 

History and poetry have immortalized Leonidas 
and his Spartan band at Thermopylae; Arnold von 
Winkelried and the brave Swiss mountaineers at Sem- 
pach ; Bruce and the Scottish Highlanders at Bannock- 
burn ; the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava ; 
but neither history nor poetry has handed down a 
record of greater bravery, truer courage, or more 
signal success against overwhelming odds than the de- 


tf- 


With British and Braves 


1 86 

fense of Fort Stephenson. And in its picturesque and 
romantic details, none of the events of the past excel, 
and few equal it. Major Croghan, its commander, 
was a slender youth, not quite twenty-one years of 
age. He was not only slender, but rather effeminate 
in appearance, and with a high, intellectual forehead, 
and the general appearance of a quiet, thoughtful 
man. He seemed, in appearance, the very opposite of 
what would be expected in a combative, heroic, mili- 
tary leader. But he had been under the eye of Gen- 
eral Harrison at Tippecanoe, and enjoyed in the high- 
est degree the full confidence of his commander. 
Harrison had, however, examined the fort, and pro- 
nounced it incapable of withstanding a siege. On re- 
ceipt of news from Clay of the departure of Proctor, 
Harrison, fearing that an attack might be made upon 
Fort Stephenson, sent a messenger to Major Croghan, 
ordering him to abandon the fort at once and destroy 
all its supplies. The bearers of this message started 
from Fort Seneca (now Tiffin) at midnight, and lost 
their way in the darkness, and did not reach Croghan 
until nearly noon the following day, and found the 
forest already swarming with Indians. Believing that 
he could hold the fort, Croghan sent word to Harri- 
son that he had determined to hold it, and, “by the 
Eternal, he would This was apparently a most posi- 
tive disobedience of explicit orders. Harrison, as I 
have said, greatly admired Croghan, but this bold 
and defiant disobedience could not be overlooked. 
A body of men, under command of an officer, was 
immediately sent from Fort Seneca to Fort Stephenson 
to arrest Major Croghan, and he was at once 


War of 1812 


187 


taken to Fort Seneca. When brought before Harri- 
son, the latter sprang to his feet, and, with vehement 
anger, said : ‘^Major Croghan, how came you to write 
me that insolent letter ?'’ 

“Why, General, did not the messenger explain it ?” 

“Explain it; how can there be any explanation of 
such a letter T* 

“General, your messenger did not reach me until 
after the time you had set for me to meet you. The 
Indians were already around us, and I thought the 
messenger would be captured, and the enemy would 
get the message, and I told him to explain it to you 
should he be fortunate enough to reach you.’' 

“The infernal rascal,” cried Harrison, “he did not 
explain anything ! It is all right,” said the general ; “I 
am now glad you did not get my message. If you 
think you can hold the fort, you may return at once 
with an escort. But while you can probably resist 
the Indians, I fear you can not resist the British and 
Indians together, and when the British appear, you 
should evacuate, and do not wait until you are so sur- 
rounded that you can not escape.” 

Croghan returned to the fort resolved to maintain 
it at all hazards, if he could, without violating the ex- 
press orders of his superior. But as this defense was 
not only brilliant and glorious, but the last battle in 
the Northwest of the War of 1812 fought upon Amer- 
ican soil, I wish to describe, with some detail, the 
events leading up to this conflict. 


Chapter X 

Aftkr the failure of Tecumseh’s stratagem, 
Proctor immediately left Fort Meigs, and proceeded 
down the river; but the wind was very light, and 
there was no current in the river, so that the progress 
from Fort Miami to the lake was very slow. 

On July 26th, the day after the departure of Proc- 
tor, General Clay sent Wright, with a small detach- 
ment of soldiers, as a protection against the Indians, 
to Fort Stephenson, to warn Major Croghan of the 
probability of an early attack upon that place by a 
large, combined British and Indian force. This de- 
tachment reached Fort Stephenson late that night. 

On the 28th, Wright and two Kentuckians were 
sent down the Sandusky River, with orders to keep 
a sharp lookout for the approach of Proctor’s forces. 
The last day of July, 1813, four men were seated under 
the spreading branches of a large oak upon the shore 
of Catawba Island. This island is practically a part 
of the mainland, only a very narrow and shallow strip 
of water separating it from what is known as the 
peninsula. That is the body of land which you see 
on your maps lying between Sandusky and Port Clin- 
ton, extending several miles out into the lake. Then, 
as now, the waters around the island were famous 
for their fish, while the peninsula was a great hunt- 
ing-ground, especially for the two tribes of Ottawas. 
These men were all above ordinary size. Two were 
188 


War of 1812 


189 


dressed as scouts, and had on high boots, reaching 
nearly to the knee, gray pantaloons, gray hunting- 
shirts, and caps of the same color, with a wide, stiff, 
black front-piece. Two were in the uniform of the 
Kentucky militia, blue caps and hunting-shirt, pan- 
taloons of the same color, except a fringe of gold at 
the bottom, and a wide, red belt. The four were armed 
alike, each with a rifle, two pistols, and a large hunt- 
ing-knife fastened in his belt. Each had also a thick 
blanket, which was now lying on the ground. They 
had been seated in silence for some time, looking 
out upon the waters, a scene of beauty. The lake 
was calm. A gentle breeze swept in between the 
mainland and the islands, just rippling the surface of 
the water. They could look across the passage and 
plainly see, nestled, as it were, in the bosom of the 
lake. Green Island, Put-in-Bay, and, a little farther in 
the distance, Kelly’s Island, with numerous little inter- 
vening islands, while to the southwest could be seen, 
like a cloud on the horizon, the marshes and low- 
lands to the west of Port Clinton. It was nature’s 
solitude, her painting. Everywhere the land was cov- 
ered with a luxuriant forest. On the elevations, the 
tall trees raised their heads proudly in the air, while 
along the low shores the shrubbery bent down over 
the lake as though to cool their limbs in the water. 
All was silent save the twitter of the forest birds 
and the chatter of some squirrels that had not yet 
learned to fear man, and, occasionally, a splash of 
the waters, caused by some sportive fish. 

Suddenly the men heard a distant cry. All sprang 
to their feet and listened, each seizing his gun. “The 


With British and Braves 


190 

Indians are hunting deer,” said Navarre (for the four 
men were Navarre, Henry, and two Kentucky militia- 
men). 

“I did not suppose,” said Henry, ^‘there were any 
Indians on the peninsula at present.” 

‘"Yes,” replied the other; “just before the last 
attack on Fort Meigs the Ottawas were getting rest- 
less through long inaction. They had been influ- 
enced by their wise and brave, though not warlike 
chief, Ogontz, to leave Proctor, and return to their 
hunting and fishing grounds on the peninsula. They 
are not now on the war-path, but they are both hostile 
and warlike, and should we fall into their hands, our 
scalps would pay the penalty. But as they do not 
know of our presence, nor are they on the lookout, 
if we are cautious there is but little danger.” 

“We should not be scalped,” said Henry, “for 
Chief Ogontz will not permit his warriors to scalp 
their prisoners.” 

“He would not,” replied Navarre, “if he could 
prevent it. It is true he has great influence over 
the Ottawas, but it is difficult for any chief to in- 
duce his followers, especially such as the cruel and 
warlike Ottawas, to renounce the immemorial cus- 
tom of their tribe. And besides, just now there is a 
great rivalry between Ogontz and the chief of the 
other tribe. ‘Big Cat,’ the other chief, is not only 
warlike and cruel, but he is jealous of the influence 
of Ogontz. At any rate, we will try and not fall 
into their hands.” 

The yelling and shouting of the Indians kept con- 
tinually drawing closer, and becoming more loud and 


War of 1812 


191 

distinct. The Kentuckians were becoming uneasy. 
Navarre, noticing it, said: “We are perfectly safe 
here. The Indians have surrounded a drove of deer, 
and, by their unearthly noises, are frightening them 
into the water to the west of us, near Mouse Island. 
When deer are closely pressed and greatly fright- 
ened, it is one of their instincts to take to the water, 
and they are expert swimmers. The deer, on reach- 
ing the shore, will try to swim over to the island.’^ 

The four men, led by Navarre, walked a little way 
toward the west, until they reached a point where 
they could view the shore opposite Mouse Island. 
Soon they saw four deer plunge into the water, and 
swim towards the island. The deer swam but a short 
distance, when a half dozen canoes, each manned by 
two Indians, sped after them. The canoes soon 
overtook the deer, which, after some dextrous dodg- 
ing and doubling, were, at length, amid great halloo- 
ing and yelling, killed and brought to the shore. 

The four men were watching this animated scene 
with great interest, when Henry, looking up, uttered 
a low exclamation of surprise, and said, “There they 
come,’’ at the same time pointing towards the north- 
west. There, moving slowly, with every sail set to 
the breeze, were the various vessels composing Proc- 
tor’s fleet. It could be plainly seen that the boats 
were full of soldiers. Soon a loud yell from the sav- 
ages announced that they, too, had discovered the 
British boats. 

“They are certainly bound for Sandusky Bay and 
Fort Stephenson,” said Henry. “We must at once 
warn the fort of their approach.” 


192 


With British and Braves 


The men examined their arms, tightened their 
belts, carefully strapped their blankets to their shoul- 
ders, and hastily, but noiselessly, plunged into the 
forest in the direction of Fort Stephenson. They 
were all strong, hardy, and athletic men, accustomed to 
the forest, and, ordinarily, they could have reached 
Fort Stephenson shortly after nightfall; but it was 
necessary for them not only to travel cautiously, but 
they were obliged to ford several small streams, and 
also to swim the Sandusky River. 

Upon reaching this river, they formed a small 
raft. Two of the men undressed, putting their clothes, 
arms, and ammunition on the raft, swam across, 
pushing the raft before them, while the other two, 
with their guns in hand, watched on the shore, lest 
they be taken by surprise. Then the other two crossed 
in the same way. About ten o’clock the next day 
they drew near the fort. They found Indians in the 
woods on both sides of the Sandusky River, and it 
was necessary for them to proceed with the greatest 
caution. On one occasion the Indians came so near 
them that they lay flat upon the ground for nearly 
two hours without making a move. Finally, the In- 
dians moved on, and the scouts and militiamen were 
enabled to proceed. About noon, having eluded the 
Indians, they reached the fort. Three hours later 
the British gunboats appeared just below it. Re- 
treat was now impossible. Tecumseh, with two 
thousand Indians, lay between Fort Stephenson and 
Harrison’s forces at Fort Seneca. Proctor knew that 
the fort was completely surrounded, so that retreat 
was impossible. His force was so strong, so over- 



Major George Croghan 




f 


War of 1812 


193 


whelming, and, as he feared that re-enforcements 
might soon arrive from Fort Seneca, he began an 
immediate attack. But first he sent an officer to the 
fort demanding its immediate surrender. Croghan 
replied: ‘‘We are determined to defend the fort to 
the last, and bury ourselves in its ruins, rather than 
to surrender to any force, no matter how great.’’ 

The British officer who bore Proctor’s message 
pleaded with the Americans, saying: “See the enor- 
mous number of our Indian allies. It will be im- 
possible to restrain them. For God’s sake, do not 
necessitate, by your obstinacy, the effusion of so much 
blood, but surrender, and avoid a dreadful massacre, 
that will be caused if you vainly and uselessly resist.” 

“There will be no massacre,” replied the Amer- 
ican officer, “when the fort is taken, for I assure you 
that you will not take it while any one is alive to de- 
fend it.” 

Upon the return of the flag of truce, Proctor, 
with great promptness, commenced the attack. As 
I have said before, the siege of Fort Stephenson reads 
almost like a romance. Croghan had a little less 
than one hundred and sixty men. The fort con- 
sisted of simply two blockhouses, surrounded by a 
ditch about eight feet wide and of the same depth. 
The dirt from this ditch had been thrown out upon 
both sides, making, on each side, a small embank- 
ment. Then upon the inside was a line of pickets, 
or split poles about twelve or fourteen feet in height, 
and driven some two or three feet into the ground, 
these pickets being of but little avail against artillery. 
Opposed to Croghan, Proctor had nearly three times 

13 


194 


With British and Braves 


as many white soldiers (British regulars), and about 
three thousand Indians, making, in all, his force over 
twenty to one as compared with Croghan’s. Besides, 
Croghan had only one single gun, while Proctor had 
six, each one of them much superior to Croghan’s 
one. 

Immediately after landing, Proctor placed three 
six-pounders and one howitzer upon an elevation only 
about seven hundred and fifty feet from the fort, at 
a point where the Fremont court-house now stands, 
and poured shot from these four guns into the fort 
during the entire night and forepart of the following 
day. In the meantime, the pickets had been shot 
away, and great breaches made in the embankment; 
but these breaches were filled up, as much as possible, 
by placing bags of sand upon the embankment. 
Croghan replied to the furious cannonading of Proc- 
tor with his one gun in a very skillful manner. He 
would fire first from one part of the fort, and then 
from another, so as to make it appear that he had sev- 
eral guns ; but his ammunition was beginning to run 
short, and for several hours no reply had been made 
to the cannonading on the part of the British. 

At about four o’clock in the afternoon of the 
second day after Proctor’s landing, the cannonading 
having been kept up almost continuously for nearly 
twenty-four hours, Proctor, fearing that re-enforce- 
ments would soon arrive, determined to take the fort 
by storm. He concentrated the fire of all his guns 
upon one point. Croghan’s sand bags having given 
out, the breaches thus made were filled largely by 
bags of flour. Still keeping up an incessant cannon- 


War of 1812 


195 


ading, Proctor sent two hundred men around to the 
rear of the fort, to attack it from that side, while, 
under the cover of the dense smoke arising from the 
artillery, another party was sent to charge the fort 
at the place where the cannon had made the great- 
est breach. So dense was the smoke that the attack- 
ing force was within twenty paces of the fort be- 
fore it was discovered. However, every man in the 
fort was at his post; there was no random firing. 
Every soldier shot at a human target, and nearly 
every bullet reached that target. So fatally effective 
was the fire from the fort that the attacking party 
was thrown into confusion, but quickly rallied. With 
a shout and a yell they leaped into the ditch sur- 
♦ rounding the fort, and began to climb up the sides 
towards the fort. The officer in command yelled 
out, “Climb up, my boys, and give it to the Yan- 
kees.’' Then the unexpected happened. A short time 
before, Croghan, fearing that the enemy would en- 
deavor to take the fort by storm, had caused his only 
cannon to be secreted at one angle of the ditch. 
After placing the cannon in this position, as I have 
said above, no replies were received from the fort. 
Just as the ditch was full of men, and its sides lined 
with those climbing up, and when the British were 
flushed with almost certain success, Croghan’s can- 
non, with half a charge of powder, and a double charge 
of grape and slugs, belched forth, from its hiding- 
place, a terrible volley, which swept the entire length 
of the ditch, strewing the bottom and sides with 
dead and wounded. A second charging party, heroic- 
ally following their comrades, again endeavored to 


196 


With British and Braves 


cross the ditch ; but they shared the same fate. And 
before the two hundred men sent around to charge 
it from the rear had reached the fort, those in front 
had fled in great haste and confusion, leaving behind 
them more in dead and wounded than the entire 
garrison of the fort. Just before the attacking party 
reached the fort, a cannon-ball struck one of the bags 
of flour^ throwing its contents over some soldiers 
who happened to be near. When the British and 
Indians broke and fled, one of the soldiers cried out, 
“We got the flour, but they got the pepper.” 

We have seen that Proctor was cruel and blood- 
thirsty. In many respects he resembled the Indian. 
He was brave when flushed with success, but lost 
courage at the first reverse. And, immediately after 
this repulse, and before morning dawned, leaving 
many of his dead and wounded behind, he was sail- 
ing down the Sandusky River in ignominious retreat. 

After the victory, Croghan and his men proved 
that they were as kind and merciful as they were 
brave and heroic. No sooner were they safe from 
further attack than they turned their attention to the 
care of their wounded enemies; and one of the first 
men to receive care and attention was a British offi- 
cer, who, at the moment of attack, cried out to his 
men and their savage allies, “Give the Yankees no 
quarter.” Severely wounded, and lying at the bot- 
tom of the ditch, he was seen waving a white hand- 
kerchief, pleading for the mercy which, but a few 
moments before, he had denied his foes. 

The news of this signal victory — a victory of one 
man against twenty — was received with the liveliest 


War of 1812 197 

sentiment of admiration and rejoicing throughout the 
entire land. 

After Proctor^s retreat and ignominious failure 
at Fort Stephenson, the Indians, for the most part, 
left the British, and again became roving and hostile 
bands, being controlled by Proctor only as he fur- 
nished them provisions in case their hunting and 
plundering expeditions were unsuccessful. 

Almost immediately after the receipt at Fort 
Meigs of the news of the glorious defense of Fort 
Stephenson, Ruth, Hettiebelle, and Captain Dinsmore, 
with a small escort, went to Fort Stephenson. It 
was their intention, when they left Fort Meigs, to 
go directly to Ruth’s home, after one night’s stay 
at Fort Stephenson. But, upon reaching the latter 
place, they found so many poor fellows suffering from 
their wounds, that Ruth and Hettiebelle decided it 
was their duty to stay at the -fort for a short time. 

Most of those who needed nursing at Fort 
Stephenson were wounded Canadians and English. 
The whole story of the attack and defense of Fort 
Stephenson reads more like a romance than authen- 
tic and undisputed history. But no part seems 
more incredible than the fact that Croghan only had 
one man killed and seven wounded. It seems little 
short of miraculous that between four and five hun- 
dred British regulars, with four cannons could, from 
the short distance of less than eight hundred feet, 
bombard, for nearly twenty-four hours, a fort pro- 
tected only by the earth thrown out of the little 
ditch surrounding it, and sharpened sticks driven into 
the ground — to say nothing of the desperate attempt 


198 


With British and Braves 


to take it by storm — without causing greater damage 
and loss of life. But, on the other hand, the num- 
ber of British wounded was very great, more than 
the entire number of the American garrison, and more 
were left behind than could be properly cared for by 
Croghan’s command. 

It was the sight of so much suffering, and the 
lack of proper nursing and care, that induced Ruth 
and Hettiebelle to remain at the fort to relieve, as 
far as kind and skillful care could, the sufferings of 
the wounded, which were augmented by the very 
warm weather incident to the month of August. Soon 
Ruth and Hettiebelle could be seen moving from cot 
to cot, treating friend and foe alike. 

Among the wounded was a young Canadian ser- 
geant who seemed scarcely twenty years of age. His 
right arm had been fearfully torn and lacerated by 
the discharge of the cannon at the time the ditch was 
filled with the attacking force. The army surgeon 
said to him that it would be necessary to amputate 
his arm. Fortunately, the surgeon from Fort Meigs, 
w’ho, we have seen, held Ruth in very high esteem, 
accompanied Ruth, Captain Dinsmore, and his sister 
to Fort Stephenson, to which place he went to assist 
in the care of the wounded. Ruth spoke to him, 
and begged him to permit her to make an attempt 
to save the young sergeant’s arm, saying: 

“You know, doctor, that it is a dreadful thing for 
a fine young man like him, even if he is one of our 
enemy, to go through life crippled by the loss of his 
right arm.” 

“Just as you say. Miss Wright,” replied the sur- 


War of 1812 


199 


geon. “If you think you can save his arm, you shall 
certainly have the opportunity of trying.” And she 
did try, and she not only tried, but succeeded. 

Some three weeks after Ruth, Hettiebelle, and 
Diusmore reached Fort Stephenson, a few of the 
severely wounded prisoners were permitted to return 
to Fort Malden, and among the number was the 
wounded sergeant. As they were about to leave the 
fort they came to Ruth and Hettiebelle, and each 
expressed, in the warmest terms, his gratitude for 
the kind care which he, as an enemy, had received. 
But none seemed so sincerely grateful as the ser- 
geant whose arm Ruth had been instrumental in sav- 
ing. Among other things, he said : “Miss Wright, I 
owe you a debt of gratitude greater than I can ex- 
press. The thought of going through life deprived 
of the use of my right arm seemed dreadful, and it 
is to your care and kindness that I owe its preser- 
vation. I sincerely hope that neither you nor your 
brother may ever be so unfortunate as to be in trouble, 
but it would be one of the happiest moments of my 
life to be able, in some small way, to repay your kind- 
ness to me.” 

Ruth thanked him pleasantly for his expressions 
of gratitude and good-will, little dreaming that he 
would, at least indirectly, repay her in full measure, 
complete and rounded, for all the kindness which she 
had shown him. 

A few days after the departure of the wounded 
prisoners, Ruth’s father appeared at the fort for the 
purpose of taking Ruth, Captain Dinsmore, and 
Hettiebelle to his home. Henry had gone to deliver 


^oo 


With British and Braves 


a message to Fort St. Mary's, but was expected to 
return soon, and also to visit his home. 

The road to the mouth of the Huron River was, 
for the most part, a winding path leading through the 
woods, many places rough with the roots and sticks 
that were among the trees. 

They started early in the morning. The weather 
was warm, but the overspreading branches of the 
forest trees shut out the sun. The birds were singing, 
the squirrels were chattering and scampering across 
the road, and running up and down the sides of the 
trees, while occasionally a rabbit would skip across 
their way, and, barely out of reach of the horses' 
feet, would sit down, and look at them without fear. 
Several times during their journey they heard the 
proud notes of the strutting wild turkey-gobbler, and 
once a drove of deer bounded away into the woods 
upon their approach, while the little, speckled fawns 
turned, and timidly, but inquiringly, gazed at them 
with their great, lustrous eyes. 

Upon reaching Mr. Wright's home, Ruth received 
a fond mother's affectionate embrace, and the others 
were, by Mrs. Wright, most cordially and hospitably 
welcomed. ^ 

Notwithstanding the fact that we were now in con- 
trol of all the forts in the Northwest, and all the lake 
ports on the southern side of Lake Erie, yet, owing 
to the fact that the British had absolute control of 
all the lakes west of Ontario, Harrison found it ex- 
tremely difficult to protect the frontier settlements ; 
for these roving bands of savages would suddenly 
appear in some unexpected quarter, and, after de- 


War of 1812 


201 


stroying grain, killing live stock, burning houses and 
barns, and sometimes murdering people, and occa- 
sionally carrying away a captive, before a rescuing 
party could reach them, they would suddenly disap- 
pear, and, if pursued, would return to the British 
headquarters at Malden, where they were safe. 

General Harrison and Commodore Perry, with 
the co-operation and approval of the War Depart- 
ment, determined, if possible, to wrest the control 
of the lakes from the British by a decisive naval 
conflict. Up to this time, taking into consideration, 
on the one hand, the inglorious surrender of Hull, 
the fatal conflict at Frenchtown, and, on the other, 
our success at Fort Meigs and the glorious defense 
of Fort Stephenson, neither side had, upon the whole, 
gained any great advantage over the other. 


Chapter XI 

At this time the English were emphatically the 
“lords of the ocean” by almost uninterrupted naval 
victories over all the nations of Europe, extending 
over a period of more than a century. They had come 
to believe, as one of their poets expressed it, that 

“ The wind and seas are Britain’s wide domain. 

And no sail but by her permission spreads.” 

It is true the Americans had, on several occasions 
in single combats, which might properly be called 
naval duels, both during the War of the Revolution 
and in the earlier part of the War of 1812, not only 
been victorious, but in these conflicts they had so 
borne themselves as to wound the pride of England 
more than if she suffered greater defeats on land. 

Yet never had an American squadron met in con- 
flict an enemy; and to risk the control of the lakes, 
perhaps the dominion over the great Northwest, for 
all time, by one decisive naval conflict, was by many 
Americans deemed rash, if not foolhardy. But both 
General Harrison and Commodore Perry realized the 
absolute necessity of obtaining control of the lakes, 
unless we were prepared to yield to the British all the 
great Northwest; and they determined not only to 
risk, but to force a naval encounter at the earliest 
possible practicable moment. 

Perry had been building his fleet during the spring 
202 


War of 1812 


203 


of 1813 at Erie, Pennsylvania. In the forepart of July 
his fleet was ready. But he lacked men to man his 
boats, and it was only after the most urgent demand 
upon the Government that he obtained a force suffi- 
cient to give him any reasonable chance of success. 

After securing crews — and they were not a very 
promising body of men, for besides being of all ages, 
colors, and nationalities, many had never seen a day’s 
service on water — another difficulty presented itself. 
A sandbar had formed in the harbor at Erie, and Perry 
was unable to get his boats over it into the lake. 

Commodore Barclay, commanding the British 
fleet, was watching Perry, and it seemed almost im- 
possible to cross the bar in the face of a British squad- 
ron. Fortunately for us, the British commander was 
invited to participate in some social festivities in Can- 
ada, and he relaxed for a few days his watchfulness. 
Perry promptly seized this opportunity, unloaded his 
guns and freight, fastened on both sides of the largest 
of his boats small scows or lighters, which were first 
nearly filled with water. Then, after these lighters 
were securely fastened to the larger vessels, the water 
was pumped out, thus giving them great buoyancy and 
lifting power, which enabled Perry to float his ships 
successfully over the bar. The guns and freight were 
then replaced, and so rapidly was this accomplished, 
that before Barclay was done feasting he found, to his 
surprise and mortification, that Perry was ready for 
the coming struggle. 

Barclay did not, however, seek a conflict, but re- 
turned at once to Malden, and Perry and his fleet 
sailed for Sandusky Bay. At Sandusky he very ma- 


204 


With British and Braves 


terially strengthened his fighting force by taking with 
him about seventy brave Kentucky sharpshooters, who 
offered their services as volunteers. Perry then set 
sail for Put-in-Bay, resolved not only to throw down 
to the British the gage of battle; but, if necessary, to 
force Barclay to fight for the control of the Great 
Bakes and the ownership of the great Northwest. 

Now I must turn a moment to other not so im- 
portant but fully as exciting events. 

Johnson and Hettiebelle had been at the Wright 
home about a week. It had been to Ruth and Johnson 
the happiest week of their lives. Johnson had nearly 
recovered from his wounds. He felt stronger and 
stronger each succeeding day; and about the only 
reminder, save his memory of the terrible ordeal at 
Fort Meigs, was the still lingering weakness in his 
sprained ankle. To strengthen this, as he said, he 
took long walks every day; but he very seldom went 
alone. Sometimes Ruth and Hettiebelle would go 
with him ; but usually Hettiebelle would excuse herself, 
and remain with Mrs. Wright. 

In front of Mr. Wright’s house, and just across the 
road, was a beautiful forest. Very frequently Ruth 
and Johnson would wander into this forest, and sit 
down upon a small log that lay beneath twO' great 
beech-trees, whose spreading branches touched and 
interlaced. The squirrels would run up and down the 
trees around them, or gracefully jump along the 
ground as though unmindful of their presence. Oc- 
casionally a meek-looking rabbit would perch on his 
hind legs and watch them for a few moments, and then 
bound lightly away, while the forest birds would sing 





Ruth Wright and Lieut. 


Dinsmore. 




War of 1812 


205 


in the tree-tops or hop along almost at their feet. 
Here Johnson and Ruth would sit and pour into each 
other’s ears the old, old story. Sometimes they would 
talk of the happy future when they should be one, and 
would build those enchanting castles that hope creates 
and love beautifies in that most glorious time of life 
when youth is verging into manhood and woman- 
hood; for next to the complete, glorious happiness of 
realization, which beautifies the sunset of every well- 
spent life, there is no pleasure quite so sweet, no joy 
quite so complete, as that which hope and love, com- 
bined with honor, integrity, and virtue, give to antici- 
pation in life’s bright springtime. 

One day the lovers had been seated beneath the 
trees longer than usual. The shades of evening were 
beginning to darken the forest. They had not only 
been repeating sweet words of love; but they had 
been speaking of the past and the present, and hoping 
for the future. But there were some thoughts which, 
in spite of Ruth’s patriotism and courage, saddened 
her heart, and occasionally caused a tear to glisten in 
her eye. 

When Johnson left Fort Meigs, as I have said, he 
intended to return to Kentucky after a short visit at 
Ruth’s home; but he had become so well that he con- 
cluded to join his command, the major part of whom 
had volunteered to go with Commodore Perry, form- 
ing a large part of the company of Kentucky sharp- 
shooters which joined Perry at Sandusky. Henry also 
determined to go with Johnson. It was their intention 
to start the next afternoon for Sandusky Bay, and then 
proceed to Put-in-Bay and join Perry at that place. 


2o6 


With British and Braves 


so as to participate in the great forthcoming struggle. 
Ruth had been thinking of how soon they must part, 
and to what danger her lover would be exposed before 
they should meet again. With her head resting upon 
his shoulder, both had been silent for a few moments; 
both felt a pang of sorrow at the prospect of separating 
so soon; yet both were hopeful and extremely happy 
as they sat in silence beneath the great trees. Sud- 
denly Ruth noticed the gathering darkness, and 
quickly said: “Johnson, we must go; it is getting dark. 
I did not think it was nearly so late.” 

With one sweet, fond kiss, they arose, and started 
for the house. They little knew how terrible would 
be the ordeal through which they would have to pass 
before they would again implant a kiss upon each 
other^s lips. 

On their return to the house they found that they 
were late for supper, and that Mr. Charles Wright and 
his family had called to spend the evening. It was 
a beautiful moonlight September evening. Poets may 
sing of the blue skies of Italy and the beauty of 
Southern France; but there is no place in the world 
more beautiful, in the glorious month of September, 
than the lake and island regions of Ohio. 

After some general talking and chatting, Charles 
Wright said, addressing Henry: '‘What news have 
you of Commodore Perry? Has his fleet appeared 
at Sandusky yet?” 

"O yes,” replied Henry; “they have already em- 
barked for the islands.” 

“Will Perry force the British to fight?” 

“I think so, without doubt,” replied Henry, “and 


War of 1812 


207 


there will be warm times on the lakes before many 
days. Captain Dinsmore and myself intend to start 
to-morrow for Sandusky, and the next day join Perry 
at the Islands.” 

“I have been trying,” joined in Hettiebelle, '‘to 
induce my brother not to go. He has been wounded 
twice; he has suffered enough. He has done his duty, 
and he has not yet fully recovered. He ought to go 
back to Kentucky with me; and, besides,” she said, 
turning to Johnson, "I have made up my mind, 
brother, that if you persist in joining Commodore 
Perry’s command, I shall not return home until after 
I know the result of the conflict on the lakes. Mrs. 
Wright has very kindly asked me to remain here, and 
I have concluded to do so.” 

"Just as you think best about that,” replied John- 
son. "I think that but a few days will elapse before 
Perry engages Barclay, and after that conflict is over 
I will return with you; that is, if I get back safe and 
well. But I have determined that it is my duty to 
join my command, and we shall start to-morrow.” 

"I am so glad you have concluded to stay,” said 
Ruth and Mrs. Wright, almost in unison. 

"It will be so lonesome without you;” and Char- 
lotte also expressed her pleasure in knowing that 
Hettiebelle was going to remain still longer. 

After some further conversation, Charlotte said : "I 
have an idea. This is the last evening we will be 
together for some time. I propose that we go black- 
berrying to-morrow up on the ridge, about a mile and 
a half from here. There is an open space, which either 
the wind or the Indians or both have partially cleared. 


208 


With British and Braves 


and I understand that there are great quantities of fine 
berries growing there. Let us all go, and have a real 
good time before we separate again.” 

Ruth and Hettiebelle both said: “That will be 
fine. We must all go.” 

But Henry said: “I should enjoy that very much, 
only you know about a month since the Indians raided 
the settlement southeast of us, and killed one settler 
and destroyed all the growing crops and drove off all 
the stock. I have heard that the people in that settle- 
ment are suffering, and I have promised to go over 
there to-morrow, and find out what can be done for 
these people before cold weather sets in, and the roads 
become soft and bad. If I find them destitute, the 
neighbors around here and from the Milan settlement 
are going to carry them provisions, so that they will 
not suffer during the winter.” 

“That is right,” said Hettiebelle. “If I were your 
sister I should be proud of you; you are always trying 
to help some one.” 

“But,” said Henry, pretending not to notice Hettie- 
belle’s remark, which, however, pleased him, as her 
approval always did; “the rest of you may go, and I 
will help eat the berries when you get back.” 

“We will not go without you,” said Charlotte. 

After some further conversation, it -was finally de- 
cided that Henry should start very early in the morn- 
ing and return by noon, and all should go berrying 
immediately after dinner. 


Chapter XII 

Just at break of day the next morning Henry 
started for the settlement that had suffered so severely 
from the Indian raids. After a walk of a little less than 
two hours through what was, for the most part, an 
unbroken forest, he reached a log-cabin. He found 
within a man, his wife, and four children, the youngest 
not quite two years old. 

They were eating breakfast. The cabin contained 
but one room, with two beds. The family were seated 
on two wooden benches. There were no chairs, and 
only two home-made stools. The table was also of 
home manufacture, uncovered but clean, as was every- 
thing else in the house. All the family were bare- 
footed, and the children had on just enough clothing 
to cover their nakedness. The husband wore a coarse, 
woolen shirt made by his wife, and a pair of pantaloons 
of untanned deerskin. With the exception of a sugar- 
bowl and some plates, which had evidently been 
brought from the East, the few dishes upon the table 
were tin or pewter. There was on one side a large, 
open fireplace. Over the fire, suspended by a hook 
attached to an iron bar, was an iron pot, in which all 
of the cooking had to be done. Henry hardly ob- 
served these things ; for this lack of furniture and com- 
forts, and even the bare necessities of life, was common 
in those days in the new settlements. Girls and young 
women were not ashamed to attend church, and even 
social gatherings, in their bare feet; but Henry did 
14 209 


210 


With British and Braves 


notice that all the family had for breakfast was some 
wild-turkey shot the day before, some not fully-devel- 
oped potatoes, and “johnny-cake” made from corn 
which had been cracked and partially powdered by 
pounding, and baked with only water and salt, and 
sweetened with maple- syrup. 

Henry was informed that the savages had destroyed 
all their wheat and most of their corn and potatoes, 
stolen their horses, killed their pigs and cattle, and 
that all they would have to eat the coming winter 
would be what little corn and potatoes were left, to- 
gether with what game they might be able to kill. 

“But,” said the man, “I do not know as we shall be 
able to kill any game; for we have no ammunition, and 
I have no money to buy more.” 

Henry gave him a small quantity of ammunition, 
and after a little further talk in regard to the con- 
dition of others in the settlement, proceeded to some 
of the other houses, and found everywhere want, and 
in some places actual suffering, although the season 
was yet warm and pleasant. 

He promised to call the attention of the people in 
the neighboring settlements to their wants, and as- 
sured them that they would be provided with supplies 
enough to keep them from suffering during the win- 
ter, and cheered them by adding: “It will not be long 
before the lakes will be clear, and then you can sell 
your skins for something, and thus meet your most 
pressing wants.” 

Such was the condition of many of the settlements 
west of Cleveland in the fall of 1813, before Perry’s 
victory gave us control of the lakes. 


War of 1812 


211 


Various things delayed Henry longer than he had 
anticipated, so that it was after midday before he 
reached his home. He found, upon his return, that 
Johnson had gone to Charles Wright’s to get Char- 
lotte, and, by agreement, Henry, Ruth, and Hettiebelle 
were to meet them at the berry-patch. Henry hastily 
ate his meal, and they all set off for the meeting-place. 
By the time they reached there, it was three o’clock. 

They hunted around, hallooed several times, but 
could not see or hear anything of Charlotte and John- 
son. At length Henry said; ‘T think they must have 
concluded we were not coming, for we intended to get 
here nearly two hours earlier; and as Johnson and 
I have planned to start for Sandusky Bay about five 
o’clock, they have evidently returned home.” 

After picking berries for a few moments, Henry, 
his sister, and Hettiebelle also started back. When 
almost in sight of John Wright’s house, Henry said: 
‘T will go over to uncle’s and bid them good-bye, and 
then return; for we must start for Sandusky Bay very 
soon.” 

Ruth and Hettiebelle had been at John Wright’s 
about a quarter of an hour, when Henry entered, 
glanced around the room, and then said, excitedly, 
“Where are Charlotte and Johnson?” 

“Why do you ask that?” exclaimed Ruth; “they 
are not here.” 

“Neither have they returned to uncle’s,” replied 
Henry. “It is singular; I surely thought I would find 
them here.” 

“Where can they be?” exclaimed Ruth and Hettie- 
belle, in one voice. 


212 


With British and Braves 


Henry did not reply for a moment, a hundred 
vague conjectures rushing through his mind. At 
length he said: “It is strange. It does not seem pos- 
sible that Charlotte could have lost her way. Some- 
thing must be wrong. Mother, I must find them. I 
will start at once; they must not be left in the woods.” 

He then buckled on his belt, placing in it his two 
pistols and hunting-knife, strapped his scout’s blanket 
on his shoulders, took his gun in his hand, and started 
for the door, saying: “I will go first to Uncle Charles’s; 
perhaps they have returned by this time. If not, I will 
warn the neighbors, and we must make a thorough 
search.” 

At that moment a horseman in full gallop was seen 
approaching the house, and hardly before his horse 
had come to a halt he sprang from its back. Henry 
saw at once that it was the scout, Peter Navarre, and 
he hastily opened the door. The scout’s first words 
were: “Wright, the red devils have burned two houses, 
shot one man, and the Lord only knows how many 
cattle; but, worse than all, they are now retreating 
towards Sandusky Bay with two prisoners.” 

“Two prisoners!” exclaimed Henry. 

“Yes, a man and a woman,” replied Navarre. 

“O, my God! they are Johnson Dinsmore and 
Charlotte Wright. I knew they were lost, and was 
just starting in search of them; but I did not dream 
of there being any Indians in this section of the coun- 
try now. How far are they from here, and where and 
how did you happen to discover them?” 

“I was,” replied Navarre, “on my way from Cleve- 
land with important dispatches to be delivered at Fort 


War of 1812 


213 


Stephenson. I was riding along the road just south 
of here, when I came to a small clearing in which a 
house and barn were in flames. As I rode by, a wo- 
man ran out of the woods in great terror, saying that 
the Indians had set fire to her house and barn, and 
that her husband had been shot, and severely if not 
fatally wounded. She further said that the Indians 
were in full retreat, as she thought, towards Sandusky 
Bay with two prisoners. I presume that they are 
Ottawas, and they are doubtless retreating to the pe- 
ninsula.’’ 

“Ogontz is not with them, then,” said Henry, “or 
they would not have set fire to the buildings nor at- 
tempted murder.” 

“No,” said Navarre; “they are probably under the 
leadership of Big Cat.” 

“We must warn the settlement, and go in immedi- 
ate pursuit,” said John Wright, who had arrived just 
at the beginning of the conversation. 

“No,” said Navarre, “the Indians are now several 
miles away, and will be across the Bay before a suffi- 
cient force can be gathered together to attack them. 
Besides, if we had a large force ready now to follow 
them, it would be unwise to do so; for in that case 
they would kill their prisoners, and flee as fast as we 
could follow. I am very sorry that I am the bearer 
of important dispatches, and must hasten to Fort 
Stephenson,” said Navarre, turning to Henry. “I have 
stopped this long in order to warn you, and I must 
not delay longer. You must mount a horse at once, 
and ride after the savages at full speed until you reach 
their neighborhood; then dismount, and let your horse 


214 


With British and Braves 


find its way back, while you follow the redskins. 
They will not kill their prisoners before they reach 
the peninsula, and when they get there Ogontz still 
has influence enough to prevent, or at least postpone, 
their murder or torture, unless, as unfortunately may 
be the case, they have somewhere stolen some whisky. 
If the Indians have much whisky, the prisoners can not 
be saved even by Ogontz. But they are safe until the 
Indians reach their camping-ground; for the braves 
will want to show them to the squaws and maidens. 
You must follow unobserved, and trust to what takes 
place in the future to govern your actions.” 

In a few moments Henry and Navarre were riding 
at full gallop after the retreating Indians. After pro- 
ceeding some eight miles, Navarre said: ‘T must turn 
south here, for Fort Stephenson, to deliver my dis- 
patches; but I will join you on the peninsula, and give 
you all the assistance in my power. Be careful; a little 
rashness may hasten the death of the prisoners, as well 
as your own. Have you any paper in your pocket?” 
said Navarre. 

“Yes,” said Henry; “I have a little scrap of writing 
paper. I ’most always carry a piece with me.” 

“The Indians,” said Navarre, “will probably cross 
the Bay at the narrows w'est of Ogontz Place.* When 
you reach the other side, you will find close to the 
shore, where the bay begins to broaden, an immense 
hollow elm-tree. A few feet from the ground, on the 
side of the tree toward the water, is a large hole. You 
can readily find the tree. Then take a little piece of 


*What is now Sandusky was called “Ogontz Place” at that time. 


War of 1812 


215 


paper, and write upon it briefly the direction you are 
taking, and put the paper in the ground right under the 
hole, and I will find it some time to-morrow. Then as 
you proceed scratch the bark of the trees occasionally 
with an upward stroke, the upward part denoting the 
direction you are taking. In this way I shall be able to 
follow you ; and I think I shall have no trouble in find- 
ing you, as the Indians will no doubt proceed to their 
camping-grounds near the extremity of the peninsula, 
with which I am very familiar. Good-bye; be careful;” 
and Navarre rode off in one direction, while Henry 
followed the Indians in another. After riding along 
for some distance, Henry dismounted, fastened up the 
reins of his bridle, and permitted his horse to go, think- 
ing that it would find its way back by its own instinct. 
Henry then followed the Indians on foot, proceeding 
with great caution. At length it became dark, and as 
the Indians had left the road leading from Huron to 
Sandusky Bay, Henry concluded it would not be safe 
to pursue them farther. 

He wrapped his blanket around him, and lay down 
to sleep at the foot of a large tree. It is a curious 
psychological fact that men just before a battle, scouts 
on the eve of some startling adventure, men exposed, 
or about to be exposed, to great danger, and perhaps 
death, will sleep often soundly, while some trifling dis- 
appointment or the dread of some trouble will effectu- 
ally drive sleep from the eyes. 

It was not quite daylight when Henry awoke, and 
partook of the bread and butter and a little dried veni- 
son which his mother had prepared for him before 


2I6 


With British and Braves 


leaving home. He then started after the retreating 
savages. 

It was still early in the forenoon when he discov- 
ered them upon the shores of Sandusky Bay, just west 
of the present town of Sandusky, and near the present 
village of Venice. They were preparing to cross the 
bay. At that time in the wooded country of Northern 
Ohio the Indians, in imitation of the whites, frequently 
rode horses, which were either stolen or had been 
given them; but as they had no means of keeping 
them, especially in the winter season, the horses were 
not only but little used, but were for the slightest 
reason abandoned; so in the present instance the 
horses stolen in the settlement were left behind. The 
Indians, taking to their canoes, paddled across the 
bay. Henry, secreted in the woods a short distance 
from the shore, could plainly see them, and also the 
two prisoners, and he knew that he must be extremely 
cautious, or there would be no hope of rescue. 

After the savages left the eastern shore, and were 
paddling their way across the bay, Henry, keeping 
back a little distance from the beach, and concealed 
by the bushes, carefully searched the shore, hoping to 
find some stray canoe that might have been abandoned 
by the Indians. He, however, searched in vain; and 
finally proceeded along the edge of the bay until he 
reached a point near where the present Lake Shore 
Railroad bridge is located. Near this point he found a 
couple of small logs lying stranded upon the beach. 
He rolled these into the water, and placing across them 
some sticks and branches of trees he improvised a 


War of 1812 


217 


kind of raft, tying the logs together by winding around 
them some long, tall grass, which he twisted into 
ropes. He then took off his clothes, placing them, 
his arms, and ammunition upon the raft, and, pushing 
it ahead of him, started to swim across the bay. Henry 
was an expert swimmer, and while the raft impeded 
very materially his progress, it also enabled him very 
easily to rest in the water. After reaching the penin- 
sula shore, he hastened after the Indians, whose 
canoes he could just see far down the bay. But, first, 
he sought out the great elm-tree of which Navarre 
had spoken, pulled out of his pocket a little scrap of 
the paper, which he used sparingly, wrote briefly the 
course the savages were taking, and then placed it, as 
arranged between him and Navarre, at the root of 
the tree. 

The Indians moved slowly along in a northerly 
direction, until they reached a point a short distance 
south of Marblehead, where they landed, drew their 
canoes out of the water, secreted them, and then 
plunged into the forest, and proceeded rapidly across 
Marblehead Point, and brought up in a short time 
in the beautiful wooded slope where Lakeside now 
stands. Let us now return for a moment to Johnson 
and Charlotte. 

It was decided, when Henry did not return as 
early as was expected, that, in order to save time, 
Johnson should go and get Charlotte, and meet the 
others at the berry-field. They reached the field a 
little after one o’clock, and, after picking berries about 
two hours, concluded that for some reason Henry had 


2I8 


With British and Braves 


been delayed, and that he could not meet them. They 
accordingly started for Charlotte’s home, passing di- 
rectly through the forest, taking the nearest way. 

They had proceeded about a quarter of a mile, and 
were chatting, as young people will, without the re- 
motest dream of danger, when, suddenly and almost 
as though they sprang out of the ground, a band of 
some thirty Indians surrounded them. 

Charlotte gave an involuntary shriek of fright. A 
white man stepped up to her, and said: “Miss, it will 
do no good to scream; keep still, and I will see that 
you are not hurt.” 

Johnson’s first impulse was to shoot the white 
scoundrel, as he had a pistol in his belt, and then 
plunge into the woods, and take his chance of escape; 
but that would leave Charlotte alone with the savages. 
He saw that resistance was useless. He therefore 
coolly said: “We are your prisoners, and hope you 
will treat us as such.” 

“We will treat you as we see fit,” replied the white 
man. 

Charlotte’s hands were tied, but with no harshness, 
and she was placed upon the back of one of the stolen 
horses. Dinsmore’s pistol was taken from him, his 
hands were tied, and he was told to march in front of 
an Indian who was riding a stolen horse, and leading 
the one upon which Charlotte rode. 

In this manner they proceeded towards Sandusky 
until some time after dark, when they halted for the 
night. 

Johnson was securely bound hand and foot. Char- 
lotte’s hands were simply kept tied, and, to the credit 


War of 1812 


219 


of her captors, it must be said, a blanket was placed 
upon the ground for her to lie upon. It was warm, 
and, as the Indians had fears of being followed, no 
fires were kindled. 

At break of day the Indians started again upon 
their retreat, first having served Johnson and Char- 
lotte with some bread, which the savages had evi- 
dently stolen from the settlement. After crossing the 
bay, the Indians proceeded more leisurely, as though 
having no fear of pursuit. At the camping-ground 
they met other Indians, who seemed more particularly 
under the control of chief Ogontz. The squaws and 
Indian girls and boys came out and looked at the pris- 
oners, especially at Charlotte, felt of her clothing, 
pinched her cheeks, and pulled her hair, more as chil- 
dren pull a dog’s ears than out of any malice. 

Not long after their arrival, the Indians were 
joined by another band, that had apparently come 
from a hunting expedition. With these Indians was a 
British officer, dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant 
of the Canadian militia. He talked with the Indians 
and the white man for a few moments, and then turned 
to look at the prisoners; but the moment he saw the 
sad, tearful face of Charlotte, who was sitting with 
her head leaning upon her hands beside a tree, and 
did not see, or at least did not notice him, a flush of 
surprise, astonishment, and anger overspread his face. 
He then scanned the features of Dinsmore; and as he 
did so, one could almost discover a slight smile of 
triumph. 

This officer was none other than Lieutenant Hast- 
ings. Owing to the defeat at Fort Stephenson, and 


220 


With British and Braves 


the inactivity of the British, combined with the influ- 
ence of chief Ogontz, many of the Indians, and espe- 
cially the Ottawas, were wavering in their support of 
the British cause. Barclay had no doubt of the suc- 
cessful result of the coming naval engagement; but 
in order to reap the full fruits of a victory upon the 
lakes, he wished to retain all the Indians as British 
allies. 

He was aware that the Wyandots had taken sides 
with the Americans, and he feared that the Ottawas 
would also be influenced to join the Americans. For 
this reason Jenks had been sent to the Ottawas, to 
stir up in their minds a feeling of hatred against the 
Americans; but Barclay, well knowing the treacher- 
ous character of Jenks, thought it best to send Lieu- 
tenant Hastings to the Ottawas, in order not only to 
assist Jenks, but also to watch him. I have spoken 
several times of Chief Ogontz. Perhaps, before going 
further, I ought to say a word in regard to the roman- 
tic history of this chief, who, while an Indian, was in 
many respects one of nature’s noblemen. No one 
knows to what tribe he originally belonged. Years 
before the time of my story the small-pox broke out 
among the Indian tribes in the Northwest. The rav- 
ages of this dread disease among the ignorant, meat- 
eating savages were terrible. Whole tribes fell vic- 
tims to the scourge, and entire villages were depopu- 
lated. One day, on the shores of Lake Superior, some 
brave Catholic missionarieiv entered a deserted Indian 
village, and there found Ogontz, then a little papoose, 
all alone. 

He had been left behind, either by heartless pre- 


War of 1812 


221 


meditation or cruel indifference. The missionaries 
took pity on the little waif, exposed to certain death 
from hunger or wild beasts, and he was sent to Can- 
ada, and educated for a priest. Prior to the War of 
1812 he came to Sandusky Bay, as a missionary among 
the Ottawas, over whom he soon acquired great in- 
fluence. 

After acting as a missionary for some time, he con- 
cluded that he would have more power and influence 
with the Ottawas, and do them more good by becom- 
ing their chief. He resigned his holy offlce, was 
adopted into their tribe, and became one of their chiefs. 
At the outbreak of the war the Ottawas, under his ad- 
vice, returned to Canada, which was originally their 
home. Ogontz advised their return, hoping in this 
way to keep them neutral; but in this he was only 
partially successful, as their warlike spirit was ever 
getting beyond his control, especially because the 
chief of the other Ottawa tribe was not only warlike 
and cruel, but was jealous, and became at length 
Ogontz’s bitter enemy. 

Hastings had apparently reached the camping- 
ground of the Ottawas at a most favorable time. Big 
Cat’s followers had just returned from a successful 
foraging expedition, and had brought home consider- 
able booty and two prisoners, and, as Navarre feared, 
had succeeded in getting some whisky or fire-water, 
at once the delight and curse of the Indians. 

This rival chief saw with pleasure and exultation 
the evidence of displeasure and jealousy manifested 
by the young braves in Ogontz’s tribe, who, through 
his influence, had kept aloof from the war-path. 


222 


With British and Braves 


Ogontz’s rival (who, on account of his savage and 
warlike character, as well as his size and strength, was 
called Big Cat *) saw now a favorable opportunity not 
only of inciting the warlike Ottawas, but at the same 
time of humbling his enemy, Ogontz. He well knew 
that to torture and kill a prisoner taken as Dinsmore 
was, would cause such a feeling of indignation among 
the Americans as to make war a necessity. 

But among the Indians the power of the chief was 
limited, and the fate of the prisoners taken in war or 
a successful raid, was always determined by a council 
of the braves of the tribe. And Big Cat feared the 
persuasive eloquence of his rival. For this reason he 
wanted the council to meet at once, thinking that in 
the exultation and excitement of the moment they 
would be more likely to decide for war, and as a re- 
sult torture and slay Dinsmore; for the Indians seldom 
killed or tortured their female captives, although, as 
servants or slaves of the squaws, their condition, while 
held as prisoners, was often pitiable. 

Ogontz, being not only opposed to war, but anx- 
ious to save Dinsmore’s life, urged delay, and he ad- 
vanced one reason which Big Cat could not answer. 
He said that if they were going to torture their pris- 
oner while they danced around the council fire, all of 
their tribe should be present; that not to wait would 
be a slight to many of their braves and young men 
who were now absent upon a hunting expedition, but 
would probably return that evening. Accordingly, it 


* There is some doubt as to the name of this chief, as he is usually 
mentioned in history as “ the other chief,” or the “ rival chi'ef,” 


War of 1812 


223 


was finally decided that the council should be post- 
poned until the following morning. 

Hastings’s position was one of conflicting emotions 
and feelings. He not only desired, but it was the ob- 
ject of his visit, to weaken Ogontz’s influence, and 
induce the Ottawas to declare war against the Ameri- 
cans; but at the same time he was shocked and horri- 
fied at the thought of torturing and murdering John- 
son, although he considered him his bitterest foe. 

But, thinking that something might arise that 
would enable him to see his way more clearly out of 
the terrible dilemma in which he was placed, he used 
his influence to delay the council, as also did Jim 
Jenks, the white man, who was with the marauding 
party, and who first accosted Charlotte at the time of 
her capture. He was none other than the wretch who, 
after being summarily punished for his insulting re- 
marks about Ruth at Fort Meigs, had deserted to the 
British. He had his own sinister motives for desir- 
ing delay. 

The Indians are usually described as watchful and 
vigilant ; but this is only true when they have reason to 
suspect danger. The Indian, when on the war-path 
and surrounded by foes, is seldom led into a trap or 
ambuscade, seldom taken by surprise. But the mo- 
ment apparent danger is over, his natural indolence 
causes him to relax his vigilance, and few, if any, senti- 
nels watch his campfire or village. 

So in the present case, as they felt secure from 
chase or attack, little vigilance was exercised. The 
evening was warm and pleasant, and as the night 
advanced the fires burned low. Henry cautiously 


224 


With British and Braves 


crept towards the camp, anxiously searching every- 
where for a sight of Charlotte and Johnson. At length 
he discovered Charlotte sitting beside a tree. Around 
her were a number of sleeping squaws and Indian 
girls. By the light of a dying lire near her, he could 
distinctly see her face. Her eyes were red with weep- 
ing, the look of anguish and sorrow on her face filled 
his heart at once with love, sympathy, anger, and 
a determination to rescue her or die. 

Just at this moment he saw the form of a man 
slowly and silently approaching her. As this man 
drew near to Charlotte, Henry could, by the dim light, 
distinguish his features, and was horrified when he 
noticed that it was Jim Jenks, the deserter. As he saw 
this wretch move up to Charlotte and address her, al- 
though he could hear nothing, an involuntary shudder 
passed over him. Henry had crept cautiously and 
noiselessly along on the ground, drawing his gun with 
him, and as he saw Jenks address Charlotte, his first 
impulse was to shoot him; but his better judgment 
prevented, and he simply watched and waited. 

Jenks seated himself close beside Charlotte, and, 
assuming an affectionate, loving manner, said: “Miss 
Wright, do not look so sad; you will not be hurt. I 
would sooner cut off my hands than injure a hair of 
your head, my sweet angel.” At the same time he 
moved a little closer to her. A look of intense disgust 
and maidenly anger spread over her features, and she 
replied, notwithstanding the dangers of her situation: 
“Your attentions are unpleasant. The greatest favor 
you can bestow upon me will be to leave me at once.” 
Not the least disconcerted, he simply smiled, and said: 


War of 1812 


225 


“O, now, my dear, do not get angry. I know you 
have had an unpleasant trip; but it will soon be over. 
While it has pained me to see you in trouble, I have 
done all this out of my love for you.” She made no 
reply, and he, thinking, as low instincts often do, that 
Charlotte, like all women, was weak and senseless 
enough to enjoy his flattery, continued: “I will take 
you, my dear, to Canada, and there you can become 
the sweetheart of James Jenks, the great Indian scout. 
It will be an honor to be mine.” 

Her looks and feelings of disgust were not only 
intensified, but mingled with shame and horror, and 
she replied: “Miserable wretch, leave me alone. I 
would sooner be tortured by the savages than to re- 
ceive your vile attentions. I consider the worst sav- 
age that stalks these woods far better than such a 
wretch as you. You are a disgrace to your sex and 
your race.” 

His smile grew sinister, and he assumed a different 
role. “You are not very flattering in your remarks, 
my sweetness. Perhaps you do not fully realize where 
you are, or who I am. Jim Jenks is not so easily 
thwarted. I know what is the matter with you. You 
are in love with that white-livered, berry-picking beau 
of yours. Well, miss, I ’ll tell you one thing. After to- 
morrow there will not be enough left of him to dream 
about.” She shuddered. “Do you know what we 
will do with him? Just what you Puritans do with 
sheep that the wolves have bitten. We will fry his hide 
for tallow.” Charlotte trembled. The cold drops of 
perspiration stood upon her face. 

At this recital, knowing as she well did the cruel 
15 


226 


With British and Braves 


fate that often met Indian captives, and besides, feel- 
ing as though, by her just but not judicious anger, 
she had perhaps lessened Dinsmore’s chance of es- 
cape, she replied, in a milder tone, suppressing with 
all the will-power she could muster the intensity of her 
feelings: “What do you mean by that, Mr. Jenks?” 

“I mean just what I say. To-morrow morning we 
will set fire to some dry wood, and place that white- 
livered gallant of yours in the flame, and see whether 
he is so green that he won’t burn. I guess he is 
pretty green; but green wood often makes the best fire 
when once you get it hot enough.” 

“O, Mr. Jenks,” she said, while every nerve and 
fiber in her body trembled; “you would not allow any- 
thing so dreadful as that, would you?” 

“How do you know I can prevent it?” 

“I am sure you can,” she replied. 

A smile of almost diabolical triumph came over his 
face, for he wanted her to believe that Johnson’s life 
was wholly in his hands. For then he felt certain that 
he could accomplish his purpose, as he had no con- 
ception of the nobility and heroism of a true woman. 

“My dear,” he replied, again assuming his former 
manner, “I can save your friend’s life, and upon one 
agreement I will. We will now see what your friend- 
ship is worth. If you will promise to be mine, he lives 
a free man. If you refuse my love, I will not lift a 
finger to save him, and by to-morrow at this time there 
will not be enough left of him to make fish-bait. You 
will have the pleasure of seeing him fry in the flames, 
and realize, as you see him writhing and suffering, 
that you might have saved him. And you will not 


War of 1812 


227 


even have the satisfaction of knowing that he is look- 
ing at you ; for first we will use some of these coals of 
fire upon those eyes of his that you think so sweet. 
Now, it is for you to say whether he suffers, burns, 
dies before to-morrow noon, or lives. His fate is in 
your hands. If you promise to be mine, he shall go 
free. If you refuse, you know the results.” * 

She did not reply. Her bosom heaved, her frame 
shook like a leaf in the wind. Her choking sobs and 
suppressed groans would have softened the heart of 
the worst savage; for, except when excited by war or 
anger, the tears of woman will generally move to sym- 
pathy the Indian heart. 

Henry had been intently watching this conversa- 
tion, and although he could not hear it, he divined in 
part its purpose, and it was with difficulty that he could 
restrain his feelings. Twice he raised his gun, and 
notwithstanding his great control over himself, he 
might have shot had it not been for fear of injuring 
Charlotte. But just at this moment, while Charlotte 
was so bewildered, so agitated with the violence of her 
feelings and the terrible alternative that had been 
placed before her, that she seemed almost dazed, a 
new idea came to his mind. 

When making visits at his uncle’s and calling upon 
Charlotte, he had often announced his coming (more 
for boyish love of making a noise than anything else) 
by imitating the whistle of the quail. As Charlotte 
was struggling with the intensity of her feelings, there 


’J'The reader may think the speaker has painted Jenks too black, but 
for his historical counterpart in cruelty, we need only to refer to the infa- 
mous Simon Girty, who lived in Ohio at a little earlier date. 


228 


With British and Braves 


came twice in succession the sharp, clear, and dis- 
tinct whistle of a quail. Then a few moments’ silence, 
and the whistle was repeated. Charlotte, notwith- 
standing her intense suffering, heard this whistle. She 
listened, but without pretending to listen. In a few 
moments it was again repeated. There could be no 
mistake. Henry was near her. He was watching her. 
This knowledge changed every thought and feeling. 
As a tired, shipwrecked sailor, who has buffeted with 
the waves until he is ready to give up in despair and 
sink, suddenly and unexpectedly touches a buoyant 
float, and hears the approach of a rescuing boat, so 
this knowedge of Henry’s presence came to her. She 
felt safe. She did not stop to think how he could 
rescue or save her. But he was near, and with that 
sublime confidence that woman places in man, she 
looked up calmly, and said: “Mr. Jenks, I will give 
you my answer to-morrow morning.” 

Jenks had enough crafty cunning to know that 
delay was dangerous to his hopes, and he replied: 
“To-morrow will be too late. 1 must have my an- 
swer now.” 

Just then Jenks noticed that the squaws near him 
had been wakened by Charlotte’s sobs, and were taking 
a kindly, womanly interest in her sorrows, and were 
looking at him angrily and suspiciously. At the same 
time Henry noticed another man moving towards the 
light, near where Charlotte and Jenks were seated. 
When Henry observed this man’s features, his surprise 
and astonishment was still further increased, for he 
discovered that the new-comer was Lieutenant Hast- 
ings. Upon the sight of Hastings, Jenks stepped 


War of 1812 


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around the tree at the foot of which he had been 
seated, and disappeared into the woods and darkness. 
The most bitter dose often leaves behind a lingering 
taste of sweetness. The darkest night is brightened 
by the lightning’s flash. 

Henry had at first vaguely but correctly divined 
the nature of Jenks’s and Charlotte’s conversation; 
but the appearance of Hastings changed his views. 
And while it did not lessen his indignation, it must 
be confessed that he was a little pleased. Jenks had, 
as he now thought, been, by threats and promises, 
pressing Hastings’s suit, which Charlotte had, in 
spite of danger, resisted with heroic, womanly courage. 
He also felt that she knew of his presence, and that it 
had given her new hope in her fearful trial. Henry 
now firmly believed that the whole raid had been 
planned by Hastings, in order to get control of Char- 
lotte. “Miserable wretch,” he said to himself. “I 
ought to have shot him at Frenchtown. Coward that 
he is, he did not have the brazen courage to threaten 
the poor girl himself, but had that miserable Jenks 
do his villainous work. Thank God, he will not suc- 
ceed, and I will live to punish him yet as he deserves.” 

Jenks had been gone but a few moments, when 
Hastings, who had noticed, as well as Henry, the con- 
versation between Jenks and Charlotte, and also 
guessed its import, approached Charlotte, first bow- 
ing to the Indian women, and said, “Miss Wright, I 
believe.” His voice startled her. She looked up, and 
recognized the one whose picture she had so long 
hung in Memory’s gallery. But it was not with a 
look of joy or pleasant surprise, but with an expression 


230 


With British and Braves 


of terror. The dream, the vision of the river Raisin, 
was again before her eyes; only it was no longer a 
dream, but an intense and dreadful reality. “An- 
other monster come to torment me,” she thought. 
She trembled, but made no reply. Hastings looked 
at her a moment. “She hates me,” he thought; and 
as he gazed at her sweet face, he felt again the emo- 
tions that had often filled his soul in the past; only 
they were more keen than ever before. “She is not to 
blame for feeling as she does, but I will try to assuage 
her grief,” he said to himself. Then addressing her, 
he said: “Miss Wright, I am, it is true, one of your 
country’s foes; but, believe me, I am an honorable 
soldier. May I ask you what that man Jenks was 
saying to you that caused you so much pain. Upon 
the honor of a man and a soldier, you can trust me.” 

“Can I trust a man,” she said, bitterly, “who mur- 
ders in cold blood helpless prisoners?” 

A cloud passed over his face. Henry noticed it 
with a feeling of pleasure. Hastings asked, with some 
warmth, what she meant, adding: “Such a charge is 
not just, even to an enemy.” 

“How about the cruel slaughter at Frenchtown?” 

“The Indians only were guilty of those dreadful 
atrocities,” he replied. 

“Did not the British officers encourage them, and 
you yourself among the number?” 

“It is not for me to criticise my superiors,” he 
answered; “but I will confess that the events of that 
dreadful day I can not excuse.” 

“Did not you and two of your fellow-officers look 
on at that bloody massacre, and did not you raise your 


War of 1812 


231 


hands and urge on the savages in their bloody, cruel 
work?’’ 

Hastings did not reply at once. He did not at 
first understand to what she referred. But after a 
moment’s thought, the scenes of that terrible day so 
impressed on his mind, brought to his recollection 
the events to which she evidently alluded, and he an- 
swered: “Miss Wright, you wrong me. I assure you, 
by all I hold most dear and sacred, that I had no part 
in the foul deeds of that day. I stood with two fellow- 
officers a reluctant witness of that cruel slaughter, 
and at the time of which you speak I raised my hand 
towards heaven, not to incite the savages, but in tell- 
ing my comrades that there was a God on high who 
would avenge such inhumanity. War at best is cruel; 
but that was not war — it was murder. And often when 
I go into battle the events of that day arise before 
my eyes, and sometimes it almost makes me a coward, 
as I fear God will smite my country and its cause in 
expiation of that terrible crime. O, I wish this cruel, 
useless war was at an end! But tell me, what did 
Jenks say, unless it be something that you think you 
ought not repeat?” 

Charlotte then told him of Jenks’s cruel, terrible 
threats. 

Charlotte was at all times, if not what you might 
call beautiful, a handsome, sweet-faced girl; but as 
she sat where the dim light cast its mellow ray^ upon 
her sad face, her cheeks flushed with sorrow, fear, and 
anger, her large hazel eyes brightened with excite- 
ment and glistening with tears, her luxuriant brown 
hair slightly disheveled and falling down her back. 


232 


With British and Braves 


the surroundings, the intensity of her feelings, all 
heightened to an unusual degree her real beauty; and 
besides, there is nothing that so captivates a brave 
and sympathetic man as a handsome woman bathed 
in tears and flushed with sorrow. That picture, which 
had been so often before his eyes, that being whose 
remembrance had so often filled his mind, never ap- 
peared so sweet, so attractive, so beautiful before. His 
indignation at the detestable cruelty and vileness of 
Jenks was so intense that, had Jenks been present, he 
would have been in immediate danger of his life. But 
in his love for the sad, beautiful being before him, 
Hastings forgot that her anxiety for Dinsmore (whom 
he believed she loved) was only what any true woman 
would have manifested under like circumstances for 
a brave, unfortunate man; and her plainly-expressed 
desire to save Dinsmore’s life aroused in Hastings’s 
bosom some pangs of jealous hatred. But his better 
nature soon gained the mastery, and he said, with a 
decisive energy that took a load of sorrow and anxiety 
from Charlotte’s sad heart: “That villain Jenks can 
neither hasten nor prevent Dinsmore’s death. Jenks 
is a despicable wretch, who deserves a thousand deaths. 
Dinsmore shall not suffer if I can prevent it, and I 
think I can.” And then he added, with a slight feeling 
of pleasure: “There is one thing I want you to re- 
member, and that is, that Jenks is not a Canadian nor 
an Englishman, but an American, a deserter from 
Fort Meigs. But I must bid you good-night.” As 
he turned to go, Charlotte, with a changed manner, 
said: “O, Mr. Hastings, I can not tell you how grate- 
ful I am for your kindness.” 


War of 1812 


233 


During all this time Henry had been watching this 
conversation. He was perplexed. He could not di- 
vine or guess the result of the interview; but he was 
pleased when it terminated, and soon after he drew 
himself away some distance from the camp, secreted 
himself in a clump of bushes, and, with that control 
over his feelings that we have noticed in men accus- 
tomed to danger and excitement, he lay down, and 
soon fell asleep. 


Chapter XIII 

The next morning the Indians were stirring at an 
early hour. Part of the squaws and girls were en- 
gaged in preparing the morning meal, part in clear- 
ing off the brush and fallen limbs from a space about 
fifty or sixty feet square under some large trees near 
where the great tabernacle at Lakeside now stands. 

The day was not far advanced when the two tribes 
gathered together in this cleared space, upon which 
a covering of leaves had been spread. The more 
prominent and older men, and also the two white 
men, being in the center, the younger men next, 
and then the boys, and lastly, the women, all being 
seated upon the ground, the boys and women listen- 
ing, but taking no part in the council. Before it 
began many of the Indians took a small drink of 
fire-water, stolen during their last raid. Fortunately, 
the supply of fire-water was very small, and most 
of the Indians were not affected by it. 

Among the savages, besides age, which they ven- 
erated, there were two qualities that gave a man 
special influence in the council of his tribe. One 
was skill in hunting, bravery and success in war. 
The other was his eloquence, that talent which, among 
all people, gives its possessor power and influence, 
but much more where all meet in common council, 
and not only decide questions of importance promptly 
and immediately, but are largely controlled by their 
momentary impulses, feelings, and passions. 

234 


War of 1812 


235 


No sooner were the Indians seated than Big Cat 
called upon Ogontz to express his views as to what 
should be done with the prisoners. 

This was the main purpose for which the council 
was called, although all knew that upon the fate of 
the prisoners would also hang the decision between 
peace and war. Ogontz, with apparent deference for 
Big Cat, replied that he who captured the prisoners 
should be first heard from as to their disposal. 
Big Cat feared the eloquence and persuasive power 
of Ogontz, and was totally ignorant of the position 
Ogontz would take, except that he was opposed to 
war and the torture and murder of prisoners. Big 
Cat desired war more than he did the torture of Dins- 
more. He knew that should Dinsmore be killed, war 
would be the inevitable result, and, besides, he felt 
that upon the outcome of the deliberation of the coun- 
cil depended his influence with the tribes. Like many 
a white man under similar circumstances, he took an- 
other drink of whisky, rose in the council, and began 
by recounting the many wrongs the Indians had re- 
ceived at the hands of the Americans, and how the 
Americans were increasing day by day, becoming 
each year more arid more powerful. Once the In- 
dian roamed the forests and built his wigwam where 
he pleased; he danced before war-fires along every 
stream and on the shores of all the lakes; the woods 
were full of game, and the red man was happy. All 
is now changed ; the Americans have the best of the 
land; our braves no more dance around the war- 
fire; game, the red man’s food, feeds the whites. 
Shall we not fight for our homes, our food, our 


236 


With British and Braves 


wives and children? Our young men have captured 
a paleface girl. If any of them desire to take her 
to his wigwam, let him do so. She shall become 
his bride; but if not, let her help our squaws dress 
the game and raise the corn.* What shall we do 
with the young man? What did our forefathers do 
with their prisoners? They gave them over to the 
fire, to torture, and death, that the young men might 
learn to be brave in battle, skillful in retreat, cautious 
in attack, lest the same fate should await them. Let 
us stimulate the courage of our young men. Let the 
brave Ottawas dance once more around the red fires 
of war. Let their souls be nerved and their love of 
glory excited as they cast the burning darts at the 
writhing prisoner, and see the red flames drink the 
paleface’s blood; then let us put on the war-paint, 
and, like our great ancestors, go forth to victory 
or death. Let us make the Ottawa’s name once more 
a terror along the shores of the great lakes. Let 
him counsel peace whose craven heart fears danger, 
and who would be the American’s slave.” 

Grunts of approval, Indian applause, greeted this 
speech. 

As Big Cat sat down in the council, Ogontz rose 
with that gravity of manner which Indians always as- 
sume when in council unless excited or angry. He 
fully realized that it would require all his skill and 
eloquence to stem the tide of feeling against the 
prisoner and in favor of war. The scene, as he rose, 
was worthy the finest effort of the painter, the genius 


This was the alternative usually presented to young female captives. 


War of 1812 


237 


of the poet, and the best gifts of the orator. The 
sun, not yet halfway to the zenith, scattered its rays 
of light through the lofty trees, leaving, here and there, 
places shady and somber. 

Around the great chief, ready to catch and weigh 
every word that escaped his lips, were the two tribes 
of the once great and still warlike Ottawas. Be- 
fore him were the two prisoners — one a beautiful, 
sad-faced maiden; the other a brave, heroic young 
man. Upon the skill, eloquence, and persuasive 
power of the speaker, who had just risen in one of 
God’s grandest temples, depended, not only the fate 
of the two prisoners, but the issue of war or peace. 
If he succeeded, peace would spread her wings over 
forest, stream, and island shores. If he failed, tor- 
ture, bloodshed, murder, red-handed and cruel war, 
would build his death-fires in field and forest, beside 
running streams, and along broad bays and beautiful 
islands. The war-whoop of the savage would deaden 
the howl of the wolf, and the tears of the orphan 
would mingle with the sobs of the widow. The set- 
ting sun would look upon field and forest reddened 
by the flames of cruel war. 

At the place where he rose, since then thousands 
have listened to words of inspiration and genius, fall- 
ing from the lips of gifted divines and eloquent ora- 
tors. Since then the sincere prayers of hundreds have 
ascended from that beautiful, forest-covered spot to 
the throne of the Father; but no prayer purer or 
freer from earthly dress has ever ascended to plead 
before the Great White Throne than the prayer that 
arose from the soul of that sweet, innocent girl- 


238 


With British and Braves 


prisoner. No words of greater pathos, of more simple, 
touching, and convincing eloquence have echoed 
among these trees than those of this preacher chief, 
warrior, and son of the forest. Poetry and eloquence 
flourished best in the early imaginative ages of men. 
Never has eloquence soared to such lofty heights or 
held so true and steady a wing as in the sylvan groves 
and forests, God’s temples. 

“Brave Ottawas, to-day we are to decide between 
peace and war. Like Big Cat, I am for war; but 
there is a time for all things. Do we hunt for fur 
in the hot summer time? Do our squaws gather 
berries amid the snows of winter? Big Cat tells 
us the Americans are like the leaves of the forest, 
and he asks if we shall wait until their numbers in- 
crease and they are still stronger. No! let us wait 
until they are weaker. The English and Americans 
are now engaged in a deadly struggle. When the 
great bald eagle and the fierce gray eagle rise into 
the air in mortal combat, and their wild screams 
are heard over the water from these shores to the 
tree-covered islands, does the wise hawk join in the 
struggle? No! He watches the combat while his 
bright eyes glisten with pleasure, until, at length, 
victor and vanquished fall exhausted. He then buries 
his talons in his helpless foe and soars proudly to 
his mate with the prey over which the eagles have 
fought. Shall we be less wise than the birds of the 
air? Ottawas, be wise as you are brave, and when 
the fighting English and Americans are exhausted, 
then will we sound the Ottawa war-cry from shore 
to shore, then will we redden field and forest with 


War of 1812 


239 


the lurid fires of war, and, like the wise hawk, bear 
home to our wives and maidens the scalps of vic- 
tory and glory. But more. How often, since by 
your adoption I became an Ottawa, has my heart 
throbbed with just pride as I listened to your war- 
songs and heard of the great deeds of your brave 
fathers. Need I recount, even to your children, how, 
in times past, the Ottawa panther hunted both beasts 
and men from the mouth of the Ottawa River to 
the great bay to the north, and the broad lakes to 
the south and west? As when in the night in the 
dark forest the angry cry of the panther is heard, 
the deer flee, the moose trembles, and even the wolf 
ceases to howl : so once, when the Ottawa panther 
sounded his war-cry and built his red fires in the 
great forests of the North, the wild beasts hid, the 
palefaces trembled, and the red men fled. Ottawas, 
whose fires now light these forests? Who now feeds 
upon the fish drawn from these clear, cool streams? 
Who now chases the giant moose through these great 
forests and strengthens his arm and gladdens his 
heart by its fat, luscious meat? Who now plows the 
fields where lie the bones of our fathers? It is not 
the American, but the English palefaces. O Otta- 
was, how often, when I have listened to the glo- 
rious deeds of your fathers, have I wished that I had 
been born an Ottawa! And to-day, here in the pres- 
ence of the Great Spirit, the Father of the Ottawas, 
we have been urged by an Ottawa, by one born an 
Ottawa, to become the friends and allies of the de- 
spoilers of our homes, of those who crushed our 
noble fathers. Ottawas, how the Great Spirit must 


240 


With British and Braves 


have looked down in sorrow and anger upon his 
children when he heard those words ! Besides, you 
ask what shall be done with the prisoners, a pale- 
faced maiden and her lover. Do you remember — 
if not, brave Ontagon does — when fishing at the 
mouth of the Huron River, the Great Spirit breathed 
upon the waters, and the wind made mountains out 
of the angry waves, and Ontagon’s light canoe was 
dashed against the great rocks, and his first-born was 
struggling helplessly in the mad waves? Who saved 
that boy, who brought back from the cruel waters 
that father’s son? It was the father of this palefaced 
maiden. Shall an Ottawa father be so forgetful? 
When his boy brings home the first spoils of the 
chase, when he first starts out upon the war-path to 
make the name of his father and his tribe glorious, 
shall that father say to the Great Spirit, ‘In return 
for that boy’s life I plucked out the eyes of my 
benefactor?’ 

“Ontagon, Ottawas, let us be consistent! If the 
Ottawa spirit is so dead, if we have fallen so low as to 
join hands, as to become the friends and allies of 
the despoilers of our homes, those who destroyed 
our noble fathers, let us also be so forgetful as to 
strike the hand that gave us back our boy. As I 
look into your eyes, as I see shining through them 
the spirit of our fathers, I can not believe that there 
is one among your number so dead to honor, who 
has fallen so low, who has become so craven, as to 
vote to strike a benefactor or to join hands with those 
who ruined our homes and crushed our venerated 
fathers. My only hope is, that when you decide 


War of 1812 


241 


these questions, you will so decide as not to sadden 
the souls of our fathers or displease the Great Spirit 
above, the Father of the Ottawas.’’ 

After Ogontz sat down the grunts of approval 
were so general that Big Cat perceived that the per- 
suasive eloquence of Ogontz had, in all probability, 
saved the lives of the prisoners; and besides, On- 
tagon, who was an influential brave in Big CaBs party, 
rose at once, and cried out: “I say let the girl go. 
If she is kept a prisoner, I shall turn over my son 
to her father as a hostage. It shall not be said that 
I am so forgetful as to pluck the fairest rose from 
the bush that saved the life of my first-born !” 

At this moment took place an event that suddenly 
broke up all further proceedings of the council. It 
was an event which sometimes, though seldom, oc- 
curred in Indian deliberations, and would not, in all 
probability, have taken place at this time but for the 
white man’s fire-water. Just as Ontagon sat down 
Big Cat arose, and walked slowly, and with appar- 
ently no object in view, towards the spot where 
Ogontz was sitting, which was but a few feet from 
him. No sooner was Big Cat directly over Ogontz 
than he drew his knife, and, with a quick thrust, 
endeavored to plunge it into Ogontz’s heart ; but, for- 
tunately, Ogontz was watching him closely, and mis- 
trusted his movements, and, as Big Cat made the 
thrust with his knife, Ogontz, with a dextrous move- 
ment, seized the hand holding the knife, and, spring- 
ing to his feet, thrust his own knife into the big 
chief, killing him almost instantly. 

A scene of great excitement and confusion now 
16 


242 


With British and Braves 


ensued. But I must turn a moment to Henry before 
speaking further of the Indians. 

Just before the meeting of the council, in accord- 
ance with their previous arrangement, Navarre found 
Henry; but before their meeting, and in the morning, 
while it was still dark, Henry had accidentally discov- 
ered an Indian canoe some distance from the camping- 
ground, and had brought it up opposite the camp and 
carefully concealed it under some boughs that hung 
over the water’s edge. 

After Henry and Navarre met, they cautiously, and 
noiselessly as Indians, crept near the council, and 
watched its proceedings. Navarre, who understood 
much of what was being said, would occasionally 
whisper a word of interpretation into Henry’s ear. 
When Ogontz sat down, Navarre watched the faces of 
the Indians for a few moments, and then whispered 
to Henry, “They are safe.” Then came the unex- 
pected turn in affairs, the killing of Big Cat. 

Henry whispered to Navarre while all was in con- 
fusion in the Indian camp : “Now is the time to rescue 
Dinsmore and Charlotte Wright. They will certainly 
be killed during this angry excitement.” 

But Navarre, who knew the Indian character and 
traits much better than Henry, said: “No, they are 
in no danger at present ; let us wait.” 

Indian law was prompt, and its execution swift. 
It was an eye for an eye, blood for blood, and a life 
for a life, with no palliation or excuse except in 
case of self-defense, and that must be plain, and ab- 
solutely necessary. There was among the Indians 


War of 1812 


243 


none of the modern “law’s delay.” The excitement 
caused by Big Cat’s death very soon subsided. 

Ogontz was soon seen to leave the council. He 
proceeded a few rods into the woods, and sat down 
upon a log, and, with the stoical indifference beneath 
which an Indian conceals his feelings, he seemed per- 
fectly unconcerned. One of the oldest men in the 
tribe made a motion as if pushing something from 
him, and the women, boys, and girls immediately left 
the council. Let it, however, be said in justice to In- 
dian laws, that had a woman been slain by another 
woman, the women alone would have sat in council. 

Dinsmore, during all this time, was securely bound. 
Charlotte was, however, unbound and free, but she 
knew that she was watched, and that it would be 
useless for her to make any attempt to escape. 

As the women left the council, Charlotte, who, by 
the same means as in the night before, was aware of 
Henry’s presence, wandered slowly and to all ap- 
pearances aimlessly in the direction where she thought 
Henry was concealed; but, as the Indian women re- 
mained near her, she was very cautious. As she ap- 
proached a big tree, at the base of which there were 
a number of bushes, a twig apparently fell from the 
tree; but it caught her eye, and she noticed a small 
piece of paper attached to it. She did not immediately 
pay any attention to this twig; but after the lapse of 
some little time she bent over and indifferently picked 
it up, and, running her hand over it, detached a note, 
which, by a little care, she was soon after enabled to 
read. It simply said: “If an alarm is given, run 


244 


With British and Braves 


straight for the lake. Under the big tree that over- 
hangs the water is a canoe. — Henry.” 

The trial of Ogontz lasted for perhaps an hour. 
It was nearly noon when two men were seen to ap- 
proach Ogontz, directly towards his face. As Na- 
varre noticed this, he said: “The trial has ended in 
Ogontz’s favor. His deed has been adjudged neces- 
sary. They have determined that he killed Big Cat 
in self-defense; for, had the decision been otherwise, 
instead of going up to him in front, they would have 
passed around and approached him from behind, and 
with one blow of the tomahawk would have killed 
him.” This was the Indian method of punishment, 
and the chiefs were treated the same as the other mem- 
bers of the tribe. 

“Ogontz is safe,” said Navarre; “but now the pris- 
oners are not. Big Cat’s friends and relatives will de- 
mand blood, and, as they can not take Ogontz’s life, 
they will take Dinsmore’s. They are not armed. We 
can now take them completely by surprise. There 
is at least a fair show of success. You proceed cau- 
tiously to the canoe, have everything in readiness, and 
I will slip up and cut Dinsmore’s bonds. All depends 
upon our coolness and quickness.” 

Henry crept along carefully, keeping behind the 
trees; but, as the women were scattered around, one 
of them accidentally discovered him, and at once 
raised a cry; but at that instant Navarre rushed for- 
ward, and in a second was beside Dinsmore, and it was 
but the work of a moment to cut his bonds. Char- 
lotte, accustomed to the woods and fields, could run 
almost as fast as a man, and at the instant of the alarm 


War of 1812 


245 


she started at full speed for the shore of the lake, 
Dinsmore and Navarre following as rapidly as pos- 
sible. When he reached the lake, Navarre saw in an 
instant that the canoe would not safely hold more than 
three. 

Henry was already in the canoe, and as Charlotte 
and Dinsmore sprang in, Navarre gave it a push out 
into the water, and the three were soon moving rap- 
idly across the lake for Put-in-Bay Island, where they 
believed they would find the fleet of Commodore 
Perry. 

Navarre disappeared into the woods, with the In- 
dians in hot pursuit; but no Indian was ever swift 
enough to catch Peter Navarre, and they soon re- 
turned from their vain effort to overtake the fleet- 
footed scout. 

Owing to the delay caused by the pursuit of Na- 
varre, before the Indians got fairly started the fugi- 
tives were far out in the lake. The little canoe looked 
almost like a speck upon the water, and had they de- 
cided to land at Catawba Island, they would have, in 
all probability, escaped; but as they saw no one fol- 
lowing, they thought that they could easily reach Put- 
in-Bay. The distance from Lakeside to the south side 
of Put-in-Bay Island is between ten and eleven miles; 
but distances, especially in a clear autumn day, on the 
water are very deceptive, and it did not appear to those 
in the canoe to be more than half its real distance. 
They had proceeded about two miles, when Henry 
began to get a little short of breath, for at first he 
had paddled with all his might. He dropped his pad- 
dles, and closely examined the distant shore. At 


246 


With British and Braves 


length he said hastily, picking up his paddles, “The 
savages are following us.” 

Then commenced a race for life for Put-in-Bay! 
The pursued had a long start, but Johnson was not 
accustomed to the use of the paddle or oar, and in 
nothing is a novice more awkward than in the use 
of paddles, and besides, in their canoe were three per- 
sons, and in each of the pursuing canoes only two. 

Charlotte was a strong, healthy girl, and somewhat 
accustomed to rowing, and assisted Henry as much as 
Johnson; but the distance was long, and it almost 
seemed as though the island was receding, they ap- 
peared to approach it so slowly, although they were 
really moving with very considerable speed. The In- 
dians kept gaining, and drawing nearer and nearer. 
It was not only a race for life; but it was more. For 
Henry it was a race for the honor and happiness of 
the girl he loved. For all it was an escape not only 
from death, but from cruel torture. Great drops of 
perspiration stood on Henry’s and Dinsmore’s faces. 
Their hats and coats were thrown aside, and their 
hunting shirts were fairly wet. Charlotte, too, was 
working with all her might, her face flushed with labor 
and excitement. 

Nearer drew the island, nearer drew the pursuers. 
Faster and faster rushed on the canoes. Upon reach- 
ing Stone’s Cove, Henry’s first thought was to land 
there; but he feared they would certainly be over- 
taken before they could cross the island. His reso- 
lution was instantly made, and without stopping for 
a single second they pressed on along the south side 
of the island, rounded its southwest corner, expect- 


War of 1812 


247 


ing, or at least hoping, to discover on that side some 
of Perry’s fleet. But as the canoe turned the rocky 
coast at that point the pursuers were close upon the 
pursued, and none of Perry’s fleet were in sight. 
There was only one possible chance of escape. 

Henry determined to seek at least temporary shel- 
ter, and to give the alarm to the Americans, whom he 
believed to be in Put-in-Bay harbor. If you have ever 
viewed the rugged, picturesque shores of the island 
from that point, you have noticed where the fury of 
the waves has washed out large caves or water-caverns 
under the overhanging rocks that are beyond the fury 
of the waves, and under which one can row a small 
boat. After the waves have once started to wear away 
the rocks, they dash up highest where they receive 
the greatest resistance, so that where you enter one 
of these caves the rocks are little above the water; but 
further back they have been washed out for some 
height, and at that time, owing to the forest-trees that 
grew close to the shore, these caverns were much 
deeper than they are now. When in front of one of 
these, Henry suddenly wheeled his boat abruptly 
around, dropped his paddle for a moment, raised him- 
self in his seat, and shot his gun into the air, and at 
the same time he and Johnson hallooed with all their 
might. They then sat down as quickly as they had 
risen, and with a few quick strokes of the paddle his 
boat shot abruptly towards the shore, apparently as 
though he was running right into the ragged rocks. 

Charlotte and Johnson were at a loss to account 
for his strange actions; but neither said a word. “Lie 
down quick,” said Henry, as the bow of the boat had 


248 


With British and Braves 


almost reached the rocky shore. At the same moment 
all bent forward, so low as to be but little above the 
top of the canoe. In another instant they had dis- 
appeared from the view of their pursuers, and were 
within this water-washed cavern. The surprise and 
astonishment of Hastings and Jenks is difficult to de- 
scribe; but not so with the Indians. They were well 
acquainted with the coast, and knew the cause of the 
canoe’s strange disappearance, and soon explained it. 
The Indians stopped paddling, believing they were 
sure of their prisoners; but Hastings instantly per- 
ceived the reason of Henry firing into the air, and of 
his and Johnson’s loud cries. He knew the Americans 
were upon the other side of the island, and that if they 
had heard the gun or the cries they would soon in- 
vestigate the cause. 

“We must take them at once,” said Hastings to 
the Indians; “before assistance arrives.” 

The Indians shook their heads. 

“Two brave men can kill twenty who may attack 
them. This man Wright,” said one of the Indians, 
“we know. He and Navarre are the bravest and most 
dangerous pale faces in all this country. Wright is 
as strong as two Indians, and I was at the battle of 
Fort Meigs. The other is the man who made the 
terrible ride, and caused our defeat.” 

This knowledge was imparted to Hastings and 
Jenks in very broken English, but distinctly enough 
for them to understand. The Indians rowed their 
boats close together, and held a short consultation, 
in which it was determined to land, and go upon the 
bank, and watch the cavern from above. 


War of i8j2 


249 


It was decided that it would be useless to attack 
Dinsmore and Wright where they were. One of the 
Indians, who could talk considerable English, said to 
Hastings: “The woods are thick, the island is large, 
and the lake is broad. The Americans have heard 
nothing. We will watch and wait, and unless assist- 
ance comes we will take the prisoners alive. Ogontz 
is not here; we will now have two prisoners instead 
of one.’’ 

The fugitives waited anxiously for some noise that 
would inform them of the approach of some of Perry’s 
men; but they watched and waited in vain. 

“They did not hear us,” at length said Henry. 

“O,” said Dinsmore, “to think that our friends 
are so near, and yet do not know of our danger!” 

At length night came on. Alas! how circumstances 
make things appear so different! I have often thought 
how beautiful moonlight was upon the water; and here, 
where we get the full diversified beauty of the rocks, 
broken landscape, forest-trees, and shimmering water, 
a moonlight evening is the perfection of ideal loveli- 
ness; but it was very different to the cave-imprisoned 
fugitives. Had the night been dark they would have 
at least attempted to escape ; but it was a bright, clear, 
beautiful, moonlight evening, and on the water almost 
as light as day. Escape was impossible. Had Henry 
and Johnson been there alone it would have been dif- 
ferent. Henry knew that if the wind should happen 
to rise in the night their light canoe would be dashed 
to pieces by the force of the waves surging up into the 
cavern. After thinking for some time, Henry said: 
“Johnson, you and I can swim; but Charlotte can 


250 


With British and Braves 


not. If the wind should rise, and our boat be dashed 
to pieces, she would inevitably drown, and perhaps we 
should suffer the same fate. I do not believe that the 
savages will torture or kill us while the Americans 
are so near, and I think we had better surrender and 
trust to circumstances or fate, with the hope that some 
way we shall escape, for to remain here means Char- 
lotte’s certain death, and perhaps our own.” 

After some further earnest and thoughtful con- 
sultation, it was determined that it would be best to 
surrender. Accordingly, they slowly paddled out of 
the cave, and were immediately surrounded by In- 
dian canoes, and quietly gave themselves up as pris- 
oners. It was already getting late, the Indians were 
tired, and Henry and Johnson were securely bound, 
and sentinels kept watch. Charlotte was not bound, 
and she apparently had her liberty; but it was only so 
as long as she made no attempt to escape. 

While Charlotte had begun to have less fear for 
herself, her sorrows and anguish of the preceding night 
were in some respects intensified by the thought that 
Henry was also a prisoner, and that his cruel position 
was the result of his bravery and devotion to herself 
and his friend Johnson; but she knew that the Ameri- 
cans were in close proximity, and she hoped that 
something would develop, by which they could effect 
their escape before another day had passed. Johnson 
and Henry both fully realized the critical position in 
which they were placed, and they believed that much 
would depend upon the result of the coming conflict, 
although they did not know that it would take place 
so soon. 


War of 1812 


251 


Thus, with great anxiety, mental and physical suf- 
fering, they being painfully bound, the night was 
passed.* 


The intelligent reader will readily perceive that there is much in 
this, and the preceding chapter, that is legendary and imaginary ; but the 
killing of “ Big Cat,” the trial, life, and character of Ogontz, are purely 
historical. It may be interesting to note as illustrative of the character 
and beliefs of the Indian, that after killing “ Big Cat,” Ogontz adopted 
and reared his son, treating him with great kindness. Notwithstanding 
this fact, after the boy became a man — at an Indian Council held on the 
banks of the Maumee, between Toledo and the present village of Mau- 
mee — he killed Ogontz. Upon being accused by a white man of ingrati- 
tude, the young Indian replied, “ Ogontz killed my father, and the Great 
Spirit said I must avenge my father’s death.” 


Chapter XIV 

EarIvY the next morning a part of the Indians 
started out to fish, while a few guarded the prisoners, 
and a small party, with Lieutenant Hastings and 
Jenks, proceeded towards the Bay, to learn as much as 
possible of Perry’s forces. This party cautiously 
moved through the thick woods along the westerly 
side of the island. They had proceeded about two- 
thirds of the way to the Bay, when, upon reaching a 
slight elevation on this rocky shore, Hastings drew 
from his pocket a small field-glass, and scanned the 
horizon in the direction of the mouth of the Detroit 
River. He almost immediately exclaimed, with some 
excitement: “They are coming; there will be a hot 
time on the lakes to-day.” 

The British squadron, under command of Commo- 
dore Barclay, was in sight, moving slowly towards 
Put-in-Bay. It was September lo, 1813 — the most 
eventful day in the history of our great Northwest. 
The scouting party immediately returned to the south 
side of the island, and notified the others of the im- 
pending conflict. Soon afterwards a number of other 
canoes came over from the peninsula. A little later, 
all gathered along the western shore of the island, to 
watch the coming conflict. The vessels, comprising 
both the American and British fleets, were small, and 
rude affairs in comparison with the magnificent boats 
that plow these waters now: but to the Indians they 
looked like moving monsters. 

252 


War of 1812 


253 


Perry was expecting the conflict, and the night 
before had completed all arrangements for the great 
struggle, which should decide the supremacy of the 
lakes, and determine the ownership of the great North- 
west. A lookout had been stationed at the highest 
point of the island of Gibraltar, at a spot now known 
as “Perry’s Lookout.” Just at sunrise, with the aid of 
his glasses, the lookout discovered in the distance the 
approach of the enemy. The cry of “Sail Ho” from 
the lookout was immediately followed by signals to 
the fleet: “Enemy in sight;” “Get under way.” 

The quiet of that still, beautiful September morn- 
ing was broken by the loud shouts of the boatswains 
sounding through the fleet, and echoing along the 
forest shores the command, “All hands up,” “Anchor 
ahoy.” As the fleet moved slowly out of the bay the 
clouds overspread the sky, and rain began to fall; but 
this passed quickly away, and the sun shone out bright, 
clear, and serene. 

As I have sailed around and among these islands, 
and gone over the course taken by Perry’s fleet, I have 
often pictured to myself that morning scene. It must 
have been beautiful, almost enchanting, yet grand and 
terrible. Scarcely a ripple stirred the surface of the 
waters. The raindrops glistened in the sun. The 
dark-green and densely-wooded shores of Put-in-Bay, 
Middle Bass, Ballast, Green, and Rocky Islands, just 
slightly tinted with the hues of autumn, were reflected 
and repeated on the surface of the smooth lake. And 
these beautiful islands, scattered here and there, looked 
like great bouquets of tinted green placed on an im- 
mense mirror. The birds sang and twittered in the 


254 


With British and Braves 


tree-tops and in the air, and the squirrels chattered in 
the woods. The vessels of the fleet, with all their white 
sails stretched to the breeze, which just kissed them 
to a gentle flutter, scarcely moved on the quiet bosom 
of the lake. 

The sounds of command ceased; an almost death- 
like stillness crept over the fleet. In the hour of bat- 
tle, amid the shouts of officers and men, the rattle of 
musketry, the roar of cannon, the heart is fired to 
deeds of bravery and courage. But it is the calm, the 
awful stillness that precedes the dread hour of strife, 
when slowly, quietly, but surely drawing nearer and 
nearer the bloody struggle that tries the hearts and 
souls of men. Seldom, if ever, has history recorded 
a conflict begun amid more beautiful surroundings, 
or to which the approach was so quiet and peaceful. 

The sun was but little above the water’s edge when 
Perry’s fleet weighed anchor. With both squadrons in 
full view of each other, the sun had nearly reached 
the meridian before the first roar of cannon broke the 
peaceful stillness of the scene. In these quiet hours, 
not only each officer but each man realized that the 
honor, the glory, and perhaps the destiny, of each 
nation depended largely upon the result of the com- 
ing conflict. The opposing fleets were almost equally 
matched, with a slight advantage in favor of the Brit- 
ish. The British squadron consisted of only six boats, 
while the Americans had nine ; but the British had over 
five hundred men, the Americans four hundred and 
ninety. But owing to the fact that a number were 
sick with malarial fever, not more than .four hundred 
Americans were able to report for duty. The British 


War of 1812 


255 


had seventy guns, the Americans fifty-six. Of long 
range guns they had thirty-six, we only fifteen. It 
was for this reason that Barclay, the British com- 
mander, wished to fight at long range, while Perry 
desired a close action. 

At ten o’clock, as the fleets were so slowly ap- 
proaching each other. Perry, who was upon the flag- 
ship Lawrence, ran to the masthead a blue banner, 
upon which, in large, white letters, were the supposed 
dying words of the brave Captain Lawrence, “Do n’t 
give up the ship.” These words could be plainly seen 
from every boat, and aroused the enthusiasm of the 
whole squadron to the highest pitch. 

When the battle began, the Lawrence was in the 
lead. The wind was in the southwest, making the 
British fleet to the windward of the American, thus 
practically enabling Barclay to select his own distance 
for fighting with his superior long-range guns. The 
Lawrence was obliged to endure for forty minutes a 
terrible fire from the British fleet before she was able 
to return with effect a single shot. 

Having gained a nearer position, the Lawrence, 
together with the Scorpion and Ariel, opened fire upon 
the British squadron. But the British long-range 
guns not only gave them great advantage, but they 
concentrated their fire upon the flagship. The Eng- 
lish seemed determined to destroy the flagship and 
her gallant commander, and then to cut up the smaller 
boats of the squadron in detail. At one time no less 
than thirty-four out of their thirty-six heavy guns were 
brought to bear upon the Lawrence. 

Perry signaled his fleet to move forward, and at- 


256 


With British and Braves 


tack the enemy at close quarters; but the wind was so 
light that their progress was exceedingly slow, and 
for nearly two hours the Lawrence was obliged to bear 
the brunt of a terrible fire of shot and canister from 
the greater portion of the British fleet. She was ter- 
ribly shattered — her rigging shot away, her sails in 
shreds, her spars in splinters, and her guns dismounted. 
The carnage on her decks was fearful; so slippery 
were they with blood that they were sanded, in order 
to enable the survivors to stand. 

At length, out of one hundred and three men and 
officers who went into the conflict, all but fourteen had 
been killed or wounded, and the last gun was fired by 
Perry himself, assisted by his purser and chaplain. 
A less resolute and courageous man would have pulled 
down his flag in despair. But at this critical moment, 
when it looked as though victory had already perched 
upon the British standard, the wind, by one of those 
mysterious dispensations of Providence that are hid 
from our wisdom, shifted from the southwest to the 
southeast, and at the same time materially freshened. 
By aid of this breeze. Captain Elliott was enabled to 
bring up his ship, the Niagara, one of the finest in 
the fleet. 

At the same time, by one of those quick percep- 
tions of genius which often come to great commanders 
at decisive moments, and which seem almost like in- 
spiration, Perry determined at once to leave the Laiv- 
rence, and shift the squadron’s banner to the Niagara. 
Taking his banner under his arm, he, with four sol- 
diers and his young brother, jumped into a yawl, and 
was rowed swiftly to the Niagara, amid a shower of 






Commodore Oliver H. Perry 




War of 1812 


257 


cannon-balls and musket-shot. Almost miraculously 
he reached that vessel in safety, and instantly raised 
the squadron’s 'banner. At the same time he gave 
orders to make the bold and desperate attempt of 
breaking the enemy’s line. The Niagara was a power- 
ful brig, and uninjured. Besides, most of the other 
boats of Perry’s fleet were but little injured, except 
the totally disabled Lawrence. 

The Niagara, followed by all the rest of the Ameri- 
can fleet, borne forward by the now favorable wind, 
pressed down between the six British vessels. Each 
American boat, as it passed in between the British, 
poured into the enemy’s vessels, much of the time at a 
half pistol-shot distance, tremendous broadsides from 
its double-shotted guns, and also a deadly fire of mus- 
ketry. So sudden, so unexpected, so terrific, were 
these destructive broadsides poured into the British 
vessels from so short a distance, and so sudden and 
unexpected had been the change in the tide of battle, 
that within an hour after Perry left the Lawrence, the 
Detroit, the British flagship, low^ered her colors, and 
the other vessels of the British fleet soon followed her 
example. 

As soon as Perry perceived that his victory was 
complete, he hastily wrote with a pencil on the back 
of a letter his famous dispatch to General Harrison: 
^We have met the enemy, and they are ours;” adding 
the number and character of the boats which the 
Americans had captured. He also wrote at the same 
time, and sent by the same messenger, a more elab- 
orate and carefully-written dispatch, directed to the 
Secretary of War. 

17 


258 


With British and Braves 


It is a curious fact that the hastily-penned dis- 
patch to General Harrison has lived to become in our 
country a household expression, while the more elab- 
orate and carefully-written one, addressed to the Sec- 
retary of War, has long since been forgotten. ^ 

Thus it is that sometimes the sudden, impulsive 
thought of the moment lives and goes on down the 
ages, while our more elaborate and carefully-prepared 
ideas are soon forgotten.* 

Then the ceremony of taking possession of the 
conquered vessels, and receiving the formal submis- 
sion of the vanquished, was performed. This took 
place on the battered flagship, and in the presence 
of her surviving officers and crew. ‘Tt was a time 
of conflicting emotions,” says an eye-witness. “The 
battle was won; but the deck was slippery with blood 
and strewn with the bodies of officers and men, seven 
of whom had sat at the table together with the com- 
manding officer at the last meal. Perry stood on the 
after-part of the deck, and his sad visitors were com- 
pelled to pick their way to him among the slain. He 
received them with dignity and unaffected kindness. 
As they presented their swords, with the hilts towards 
the victor, he spoke in a low tone, without the betrayal 
of the least exultation, and requested each to retain 
his weapon.” 

It is difficult for us to comprehend at the present 
time the important results of this battle, in many re- 
spects by far the most important of the entire war. 


* There is considerable descrepancy among different historical writers 
as to this battle, but I believe the foregoing account is correct, and more 
nearly reconciles these discrepancies than any other. 


War of 1812 


259 


In order that we may better understand the feelings 
of the Nation at that time, I have an extract taken 
from a history written many years since, and while 
many of the participants in the battle on Lake Erie 
were still living, which reads as follows: “At the mo- 
ment of the conflict on the lake, two armies, one on 
the north and the other on the south of the warring 
squadrons, were awaiting anxiously the result. Should 
the victory remain with the British, Proctor and Te- 
cumseh were ready at Malden with their motley army, 
five thousand strong, to rush forward, and lay waste 
the entire frontier. All along the borders of the lake, 
within sound of the cannon in the battle (and they 
were heard from Malden to Cleveland), women with 
terrified children, and decrepit old men, stood listening 
with the deepest anxiety; for they knew not but with 
the setting sun they would be compelled to flee to the 
interior to escape the fangs of the red bloodhounds, 
who were ready to be let loose upon helpless inno- 
cence. . . . Happily for America — happily for 

the cause of humanity — the victory was with the 
Americans, and the savage allies of the British were 
not allowed to repeat the tragedies which they had 
already committed. Joy spread over the northwestern 
frontier as the glad tidings went from lip to lip. That 
whole region was instantly relieved of the most gloomy 
forebodings of coming evils. That victory led to the 
destruction of the Indian confederacy, overthrowing 
the British power in the country bordering on the 
upper lakes, and secured to America the whole north- 
western frontier from British invasion and Indian dep- 
redations. From that moment no one doubted the 


26 o 


With British and Braves 


ability of the Americans to maintain the mastery of our 
great inland seas. The effect of this victory upon the 
whole country was electric and amazingly inspiring; 
the victory dissipated the gloomy forebodings caused 
by the failures of 1812, and kindled hope and joy over 
the land.” 

It is difficult, at this time, to imagine the exultation 
then felt and exhibited everywhere. Illuminations, 
bonfires, salvos of artillery, public dinners, orations, 
and songs were the visible indications of the popular 
satisfaction in almost every city, village, and hamlet 
within the bounds of the Republic. The newspapers 
teemed with eulogies of the victor and his companions, 
and the pulpit and rostrum were resonant with words 
of thanksgiving and praise. The lyre and the pencil 
made many contributions to the popular demonstra- 
tions of joy, and public bodies testified their gratitude 
by appropriate acts. The Legislature of Pennsylvania 
voted thanks and a gold medal to Perry; also thanks 
and a silver medal to every man engaged in the battle. 
The corporate authorities of New York ordered the 
illumination of the city hall in honor of the victory; 
and the National Congress voted thanks and a gold 
medal to both Perry and Elliott, to be adorned with 
appropriate devices; and silver ones, with the same 
emblems, to the nearest male relatives of Brooks, 
Lamb, Clarke, and Claxton, who were slain. Three 
months’ extra pay was also voted for each of the com- 
missioned officers of the navy and army who served 
in the battle, and a sword to each of the midshipmen 
and sailing-masters ‘Vho so nobly distinguished them- 
selves on that memorable occasion.” 


War of 1812 


261 


Only a few weeks after the victory, Washington 
Irving, in a chaste, biographical sketch of Commodore 
Perry, said: “The last roar of cannon that died along 
her shores was the expiring note of British domina- 
tion; and this victory, which decided the fate of the 
mighty empire, will stand unrivaled and alone, deriv- 
ing luster and perpetuity in its singleness. In future 
times, when the shores of Erie shall hum with busy 
population ; when towns and cities shall brighten where 
now extend the dark and tangled forests; when ports 
shall spread their arms, and lofty barks shall ride 
where now the canoe is fastened to the stake; when the 
present age shall have grown into venerable antiquity, 
and the mists of fable begin to gather round its his- 
tory, then will the inhabitants look back to this battle 
we record as one of the romantic achievements of the 
days of yore. It will stand first on the page of their 
local legends, and in the marvelous tales of the 
borders.” 

There was yet a sad service to be performed. The 
dead were still unburied. As twilight fell upon the 
bosom of the lake, amid its deepening shadows the 
bodies of all the slain, excepting the officers, were 
wrapped in shrouds, cannon-balls placed at the feet of 
each, then, after the close of a beautiful and impressive 
service, one by one all that remained of the dead he- 
roes was quietly dropped into the clear, calm waters 
of the lake. 

“’Neath the darkness of Erie now slumber the brave, 

In the bed of its waters forever they rest; 

The flag of their glory floats over their grave,— 

The souls of the heroes in memory are blest.” 


262 


With British and Braves 


But I must now call your attention to the prisoners 
on the south side of the island. As we have already 
seen, when they learned of the approaching conflict 
all assembled on the west shore to watch the struggle. 
The opposing forces were plainly seen between Rocky 
and Green Islands. As the fleets slowly approached 
each other, the feelings of suppressed anxiety on the 
part of all the whites was intense, while the Indians 
looked on with indifference, yet with a sort of awe, 
as they saw those great vessels slowly approaching 
each other to engage in the terrible struggle. When 
the cannonading began, the Indians were greatly im- 
pressed with the grandeur of the scene and the appall- 
ing noise of the great guns which, reverberating over 
the still waters, seemed like the roar of thunder. 

Soon the smoke became so thick and dense that it 
hung like a black pall over the combatants, nearly 
shutting them out of view. When the wind shifted 
to the southeast, the contending squadrons were borne 
still further away from the island. This, together with 
the dense smoke that filled the air at the time of the 
final fierce onslaught of the Americans, when eight 
out of the nine vessels of the fleet were using every 
gun, made it impossible for those upon the shore to 
determine the result of the battle. Suddenly the firing 
ceased, followed by a calm, which, by contrast, seemed 
a deathlike stillness. The battle was over; but who 
were the victors? The Indians looked at the black 
cloud that hung over the waters with eager curiosity, 
mingled with awe. All of the whites awaited a knowl- 
edge of the result, with feelings of anxiety and sus- 
pense that can hardly be realized. 


War of 1812 


263 


While all eyes were intently fixed upon the black 
cloud, anxiously waiting for it to rise and show which 
flag was victorious, Charlotte quietly pulled from her 
pocket a pair of scissors, and cut the bonds that tied 
both Johnson and Henry, who were sitting just in 
front of her. No sooner were they unbound than 
they slowly arose and stood upon their feet for a 
moment, still looking at the great cloud, and as though 
still fast in their fetters. 

The cloud was rising. Hastings was looking at 
the dimly-seen boats through his field-glass, when a 
look of sudden pain passed over his hitherto anxious, 
but hopeful and expectant face. Henry, who was 
watching him, knew at once that the Americans were 
victorious. Now was the time to make a dash for 
liberty, warn the Americans, and afterwards rescue 
Charlotte. At a slight motion from Henry, he and 
Johnson sprang into the woods with some forty In- 
dians and Jim Jenks in hot pursuit. Johnson, as we 
have seen, was not yet fully recovered. His ankle was 
still weak, and the Indians were too fleet for him, and 
he was soon overtaken. 

Henry could have easily escaped, but he did not 
wish to abandon his friend; but finding that one or 
both must be taken, he left Johnson, with the intention 
of informing the Americans as soon as they should re- 
turn to the bay, and thus rescue both Johnson and 
Charlotte. He had outstripped his pursuers, when, 
while running at full speed around a thick clump of 
bushes, he suddenly felt the ground give way, as it 
were, beneath his feet, and down he went, striking and 
bruising himself against the projecting rocks as he 


264 


With British and Braves 


tumbled into a deep cave, fortunately landing in a pool 
of clear, but cold water. The water preserved him 
from what might otherwise have been a fatal fall; but 
it was so cold that it sent a chill through every fiber. 
With great presence of mind he almost instantly seized 
hold of a projecting rock, and drew himself out of the 
water, and crawled to the upper side of the cave, or 
what might perhaps be called a natural well, and 
which, in many respects, seemed very much like one 
of those famous dennie-holes found in the north of 
England. Henry’s pursuers saw him disappear, and 
their surprise at seeing him thus unexpectedly sink 
out of sight was as great as his when he fell. 

His pursuers peered down into the cave, stepping 
carefully along one edge which was somewhat slop- 
ing, when Jenks, noticing the character of the cav- 
ern, said: “Well, let him stay there; he can never get 
out to trouble us again.” 

“No,” said one of the Indians, “a turkey could not 
get out of that hole.” 

Hastings, who had not at first joined in the chase, as 
he now earnestly hoped the prisoners would escape — 
for he feared that they would be tortured and slain — 
had, upon a second thought, deemed it best to make an 
appearance of desiring to recapture them, also arrived 
at the cavern, and stood at its mouth, but said noth- 
ing. He had already formed his plans. Dinsmore and 
Charlotte were now both securely bound and a small 
guard placed over them, while the greater part of the 
Indians went fishing to obtain food for the evening 
meal. 

In the meantime Hastings wandered, to all ap- 


War of 1812 


265 


pearnces, aimlessly into the woods ; but no sooner was 
he out of sight of the savages than he cautiously pro- 
ceeded to the mouth of the cave, at the bottom of 
which lay Henry Wright, either dead or alive, he did 
not know which. In the meantime, Henry, wet and 
cold, had been vainly thinking of some way to get 
out, and escape the terrible death which he knew 
awaited him if he remained where he was ; but he could 
conceive no possible m.ethod of escape, and he began 
to think that he must not only die of cold and hunger, 
but that he must leave Charlotte and Dinsmore in the 
hands of the savages. 

As he began to yield to these gloomy forebodings, 
he heard a voice at the mouth of the cavern speaking 
very low, but distinctly, say, “Mr. Wright, are you 
seriously hurt?” 

“No; I am not hurt; but it is impossible for me 
to get out,” was the reply. 

“Wait a few moments, and I will help you,” an- 
swered the voice. 

At that time wild grapes grew in abundance upon 
the island, as cultivated ones do now. After waiting 
in great suspense, and wondering how he was going 
to be assisted, Henry saw one end of a large grapevine 
slowly descending towards him. As the vine came 
within his reach, the same, to him mysterious, voice 
said, “Pull yourself out; I will hold this end of the 
line.” By partially sustaining himself on the project- 
ing rocks, Henry soon pulled himself out of his peril- 
ous position. As his head rose above the surface, what 
was his surprise to see, braced against a tree and hold- 
ing the vine with all his strength. Lieutenant Hastings, 


266 


With British and Braves 


who was, as Henry had believed, the one who planned 
the Indian raid for the purpose of capturing Charlotte 
and torturing Dinsmore 

His surprise was still greater when he was about 
to express his gratitude. Hastings, in a low voice, 
quickly said : “Run for your life across the island and 
warn your friends. The Indians, instigated by two 
or three of their number, and that wretch, Jenks, 
who is worse than any Indian, will, I fear, torture 
and kill Dinsmore, and perhaps Miss Wright, before 
assistance can reach them, unless it comes quick.’^ 

Without further w^ords or reply, except a hasty 
return of thanks, Henry started as fast as his cold, 
stiff limbs could carry him for the harbor, and Hast- 
ings returned to the Indians and their prisoners. 

At that time the waters around this island, which 
has for so long been a famous fishing-ground, were 
full of fish, and the Indians soon caught enough for 
their evening meal, and, on Hastings’s return, the 
squaws were engaged in cooking the fish which had 
just been caught. Their meal consisted of the fish 
and green corn roasted on coals. As soon as they 
were through eating, the Indians gathered round the 
side of the natural amphitheater that we see before 
us between the hotel and the lake, the squaws and 
maidens being seated upon the highest part and far- 
thest from the center. The red September sun was 
just sinking in a blaze of glory beneath the waters, 
tinting the skies with its crimson rays, while twilight, 
like a luminous mist, was settling down upon both land 
and water, and, just rising into view, the full moon 


War of 1812 


267 


was silvering the ripples on the lake, which, as they 
danced in her beams, seemed like thousands of ap- 
pearing and disappearing tiny shells of silver. In the 
tree-tops the moonbeams were just beginning to play 
hide-and-seek with the approaching night. 

All round the sides of this natural forest-covered 
and forest-lined amphitheater the Indians started 
small but brightly-blazing fires. 

Three Indians then brought Dinsmore into the 
center of this space, which had been cleared of all 
small sticks and bushes. Nearly in the center, at that 
time, was a small oak-tree about ten inches in diam- 
eter. Placing Dinsmore’s back to this tree, they se- 
curely tied him, by means of narrow strips of untanned 
deerskin, tied around the tree and also around his 
waist. Hastings then saw, to his horror, that close 
to the tree was a large heap of dried twigs and 
branches, and, besides, four nearly straight poles, from 
six to eight feet long, and of a size convenient to be 
easily handled, and which were sharpened at one end. 
Close beside the tree was also a bright, blazing fire. 

Hastings understood all too well the dreadful im- 
port of what he saw. He perceived plainly the inten- 
tion of the savages, who were urged on in their hell- 
ish designs by Jenks, who hated Dinsmore as only 
such spirits of evil can. He hated Dinsmore for the 
reason that he believed that it was Charlotte’s love 
for him that had caused her to resist and scorn his 
attentions, and, besides, he believed that Henry was 
lost forever in the cavern, and that Dinsmore was 
the only one who could inform the victorious Amer- 


268 


With British and Braves 


leans that Jenks was a deserter and a traitor. The 
Indians were not only determined to kill Dinsmore, 
but to torture him. 

They intended to place the sharp ends of the four 
sticks or poles, that I have spoken of, into the fire 
which was burning so brightly close to the tree to 
which Dinsmore was bound, and when they were all 
aglow, and the ends burning like live and fiery coals, 
they intended to place the points against the sides 
and breast of the prisoner, and burn great holes 
into his seething flesh, and then, before the intense 
pain had too far benumbed and deadened his feel- 
ings, to set fire to the fagots which they had already 
begun to place around him; and, in order that the 
inhuman wretches might the more thoroughly en- 
joy his sufferings, writhings, and agony, they had, as 
the Indians always do in such cases, purposely left 
his head, legs, and arms entirely free. 

Hastings now stepped forward into the center of 
this space and tried to induce the Indians to desist 
from their horrible designs. He used every argu- 
ment that the intensity of his feelings enabled him 
to present. He also both threatened and made prom- 
ises; but the savages ridiculed him, saying that he 
was neither able to carry out his threats nor his 
promises. They taunted him with being a coward, 
and said: “You British allowed the Indians to tor- 
ture, slay, and scalp prisoners at Frenchtown when 
you were victorious. You are afraid of the Amer- 
icans now that they have won. You would not have 
been so anxious to save the life of this prisoner if 
the British had been victorious. You are afraid the 


War of 1812 


269 


Americans will have their revenge. We will show 
you that Indians are not as cowardly as white men. 
We are not afraid to torture this prisoner, even if the 
Americans are victorious.” But, in fact, they were 
largely influenced by fear; for Jenks had told them 
that if they killed Dinsmore no one would know what 
Indians captured him, while if he lived to tell how 
he had been captured by the Ottawas, the Amer- 
icans would wipe out the whole tribe. Hastings soon 
realized that his efforts were useless; yet he talked 
and pleaded as long as possible, hoping, every mo- 
ment, that Henry and the Americans would appear; 
but at length, fearing that the Indians might be- 
come suspicious if he attempted further delay, he 
seated himself upon the ground a few feet above 
the roots of the tree to which Dinsmore was fastened. 

The Indians, unaware of Henry’s escape, and that 
he might soon return with assistance, proceeded with 
great deliberation in their preparations for Dinsmore’s 
torture and death. They seemed to take a cruel 
pleasure in slowly parading before their victim all 
their various plans of torture. From the slight ele- 
vation upon which Hastings was seated he could dis- 
tinctly see every movement of the savages. Twice 
he had instinctively and furtively glanced at Char- 
lotte, who had been purposely seated among the 
squaws on the edge of the bank in full view of Dins- 
more. She sat with her head drooped low, and her 
face covered with her hands; but he could plainly see 
that she was convulsed with terror and anguish. Her 
whole frame quivered with fear and agony. His 
thoughts came rapidly, as they usually do to men 


\ 


270 


With British and Braves 


under such circumstances of excitement. He felt that 
Wright would arrive too late to save Dinsmore. He 
tried to satisfy his own conscience. He said to him- 
self : “I have done my whole duty ; I have saved 
Wright’s life in return for the debt of gratitude I owe 
to him and his sister for their kindness to my brother 
at Fort Stephenson;” for the young Canadian officer 
whose arm Ruth, with Henry’s assistance, had saved, 
was Hastings’s brother. '‘Besides, I have tried to in- 
duce the Indians to spare Dinsmore’s life, and, with- 
out any fault of mine, I will soon see him out of my 
path. Wright will appear in time to rescue her, and 
she can not but be thankful to me for saving her 
cousin’s life, and, by this means, effecting her own 
escape” — ^he having no idea that his real rival was 
Wright. But his conscience kept telling him that he 
would be a coward if, without any further attempt to 
prevent it, he should allow the Indians to torture and 
murder Dinsmore; but his mind went back over the 
past, and he answered his conscience by saying: "Did 
not Dinsmore insult and injure me in the woods at 
Cleveland? Did he not attempt to kill me in the forest 
on the banks of the Detroit River? Yes, he first 
tried to rob me of my honor and my manhood, and 
then of my life. Let him suffer, he deserves it; and 
when he is gone, there will be no one to stand be- 
tween me and Charlotte. Besides, I have already 
done more than my duty. It is not my fault if he 
dies. Not even Charlotte can place the responsibility 
upon me.” But his conscience was not satisfied. He 
looked again towards Charlotte, and this time she was 


War of 1812 


271 


looking at him with a look of agony and supplication 
which seemed to say, Can not you do something to 
prevent this cruel torture? She looked at him for 
only a moment, but that one glance aroused his 
better nature and put new life into his soul, and a 
voice seemed to whisper into his ears so distinctly 
as to startle him : “Do you suppose Charlotte ever can, 
or ever will, love the cruel coward that stands idly 
by and sees a brave man tortured?” He thought of 
how he had been accused of cowardice in the woods 
at Cleveland. He thought of French town, and what 
he had told Charlotte of that dreadful day of blood and 
slaughter. He could almost hear his heart throb. 
Again his conscience said : “She will despise you if 
you stand idly by and see a brave man tortured; you 
will be unworthy of a true woman's love. Earn her 
love, not by removing your rival, but by showing 
her that you are a true and worthy man, that you 
are worthy of her love.” 

In an instant his resolution was formed, his bet- 
ter and nobler nature was completely triumphant. 
He felt the ecstasy of delight that conscience gives 
to every worthy soul that, in the trying hour of temp- 
tation, decides for the right. He said to himself: 
“I will at least prove myself worthy of her love; and 
if I die in trying to rescue this unfortunate man, 
she will always cherish my name and my memory. 
I will so act that if I fail, that if I meet death, and 
perhaps torture, she shall think of me by day and 
dream of my honor and heroism by night.” Love was 
victorious. There was no more hesitation. He coolly 


272 


With British and Braves 


watched the savages as they proceeded with their 
preparations for torture.* The poles had been placed 
in the fire, and their ends were becoming burning 
coals. A movement of the savages told him that he 
could wait no longer; the time for action had come. 
He sprang forward, and before the Indians could 
prevent it — so sudden and unexpected was his move- 
ment — he cut the bonds that fastened Dinsmore to the 
tree, and both sprang up the sides of the hollow. The 
rage of the savages was directed more against Hast- 
ings, whom they deemed a traitor, than against Dins- 
more. 

As Hastings sprang up the sloping sides of the 
hollow it was necessary for him to pass through and 
among the squaws, and they attempted to check his 
progress, and he had to dodge here and there in or- 
der to pass them. This retarded his progress slightly, 
so that, just as he reached the top of the ridge, one 
of the Indians with a burning firebrand in his hands, 
caught up with him, and struck him a fearful blow 
upon the head, felling him to the ground. No sooner 
had he fallen than the savage thrust the hot, burning 
firebrand into his side, which was only partially pro- 
tected by his clothing; but at that moment the sharp 
reports of a dozen muskets rang out in the woods. 
The rescuing party had arrived just in time. 

A bloody conflict ensued. But it lasted for only 
a few moments. The Indians, while outnumbering 
their assailants, were without their weapons, and, be- 


The torture actually inflicted upon Colonel Crawford by the Indians 
only a few years previous was similar but more dreadful than the Ottawas 
intended to mete out to Dinsmore. 


War of 1812 


273 


sides, they were taken so completely by surprise that 
they soon fled, scattering into the woods in all di- 
rections. Henry, not wishing them to escape, ran, 
with a few men, to the water’s edge for the purpose 
of destroying their canoes, so that the savages might 
not be able to leave the island. Henry, from his 
superior fleetness, and his knowledge of the position 
of the canoes, reached the shore somewhat in ad- 
vance of the others. Here he found Jenks and an 
Indian just in the act of pushing off a canoe. But 
on his approach, seeing that it was too late to es- 
cape by water, they precipitately fled, with Henry in 
hot pursuit. Henry was so anxious to capture Jenks 
that he rushed forward in somewhat reckless haste, 
passing several armed Indians, one of whom, as Henry 
passed, fired at him, the ball striking him in the thigh, 
causing a severe and painful, but not dangerous 
wound, and checking his progress so that Jenks es- 
caped. 

Hastings was found to have a terrible burn in 
his side, an extremely painful, but not dangerous, 
wound. From the nature of Henry’s wound he could 
not walk, and it was found necessary to improvise 
a stretcher, and eight men carried the two wounded 
ones across the island to the bay shore. All were 
now safely delivered from the hands of the savages, 
and thus closed, September 10, 1813, with two great 
victories, the one upon the lakes being a victory of 
courage, bravery, and genius, the other a triumph of 
the soul of love: the one grand, glorious, like some 
brilliant flame that illuminates land and water, field 
and forest, with its resplendent brightness ; the other, 
18 


274 


With British and Braves 


unnoticed, like some gem of priceless value hidden 
far down in the waters deep, unseen save by the All- 
seeing Eye. The one victory exalted a nation, the 
other exalted and beautified a soul. Fame has deeply 
engraven the glories of one upon the checkered pages 
of human history; the other is written in the hidden 
recesses of the soul. As the brilliant fire ceases to 
burn, while the beautiful gem remains unchanged: 
so, when time shall pass away, when history shall be 
no more, and the records of eternity shall be unrolled, 
the triumph of the soul, the victory of love over fear, 
jealousy, and hatred on that island shore, will appear 
in letters of living light. To be willing to die to 
save the life of a friend, or for our country’s sake, is 
noble yet human; but to be willing to die to save the 
life of an enemy, is sublime, a touch of the divine. 


Chapter XV 

Morning dawned after the battle on Lake Erie 
calm and beautiful, revealing to the belligerents a sad 
sight. Few, if any, naval engagements of modern 
times have been fought with more stubborn courage. 
The vessels of both sides were dreadfully shattered. 

During the three and one-half hours’ conflict, two 
hundred and fifty-six out of nine hundred engaged 
in the conflict had been either killed or wounded. 
Barclay, who had lost one arm at Trafalgar, was, early 
in the action, wounded in the shoulder, so as to de- 
prive him of the use of the other arm. 

Early in the forenoon, a squad of men, under the 
guidance of Captain Dinsmore, was sent out to scour 
the island, and capture as many of the Indians as pos- 
sible; but especially to make every endeavor to secure 
Jim Jenks. They were instructed to inform the In- 
dians that all who voluntarily surrendered would be 
kindly treated, and allowed to depart. They were 
also informed that a reward would be given for the 
delivery to the Americans of the deserter, Jenks. The 
greater part of the Indians, thinking escape from the 
island impossible, as their canoes were destroyed, soon 
came straggling down to the Bay, and surrendered; 
but Jenks and an Indian comrade were nowhere to be 
found. At length, in searching the woods, a friendly 
Indian, who was with the party, discovered a trail, 
which, to the white man’s eye, was invisible. He fol- 

275 


276 


With British and Braves 


lowed this trail for some distance with the unerring 
sagacity of a hound, until at length he gave a cry of 
surprise, that informed the white men that he had dis- 
covered something worthy of examination. Upon 
proceeding to the spot, it was found that the Indian 
was standing before a small aperture or opening in 
the ground, that apparently led into some underground 
passage or cave. One of the men was hastily dis- 
patched to the Bay for lanterns. Upon the arrival of 
the lights, the party proceeded to explore the cave. 
They found it to be about two hundred and fifteen feet 
long, and one hundred and fifty wide. At the farther 
end was a deep pool of remarkably clear, cool water. 
What struck the explorers as peculiar and attractive 
about the cave, was the fact that the huge rocky roof 
above them seemed as though it had been some time 
split off and lifted up by the mighty force of nature 
from the rock below. For every elevation, indenta- 
tion, and figure in the rock below had its reverse 
counterpart in the rock above. So interested were 
they at first in examining the cave, that they forgot 
the object of their search; but at length one of the 
men, in moving around, espied Jenks and an Indian 
companion lying away back under the rocks at the 
edge of the cave, and in mortal fear of being discov- 
ered. “O, there you are; come out of there,” cried 
the man. 

Jenks and the Indian crawled out, and surrendered. 
As the party passed out into the open air, Captain 
Dinsmore said: “We have not only found our man, 
but more, we have discovered a cave; and I propose 
that we name it Terry’s Cave,’ in honor of our vie- 


War of 1812 


277 


torious commander.” And from that day to the pres- 
ent time it has been so called. 

Upon the return of the scouting party, the last sad 
rites in memory of the dead officers of both squadrons 
were performed with beautiful and touching cere- 
monies. Both fleets united in these last tributes 
of respect to their heroic dead. The stillness of the 
weather, the beauty of the bay fringed with dark, 
tangled forests of tinted green, the slow and regular 
motion of the oars striking the water in exact time 
with the notes of the solemn dirge, the mournful wav- 
ing of flags at half-mast, the sound of the minute-guns, 
and the wild, solemn aspect of the place, made these 
funeral rites most impressive, and formed an affecting 
contrast to the fierce conflict of the preceding day. 
Then the men of both squadrons were engaged in 
deadly conflict; now they were associated as brothers, 
to pay their last tributes of respect to the dead. 

Beneath the branches of some spreading forest- 
trees, where now to mark the spot are seen weeping 
willows, and not far from the shore of the Bay, were 
placed to rest six dead heroes — three Americans and 
three British.* 

In less than ten days after Perry’s victory, Harrison 
assembled an army of five thousand men at Put-in- 
Bay. After remaining here but a few days, they pro- 
ceeded to Middle Sister, a small island about halfway 
between Put-in-Bay and the mouth of the Detroit 
River. 


*The names of those interred at Put-in-Bay are Lieutenant Brooks, 
Midshipmen Lunt and Clark— Americans ; Captain Finnis, and Lieuten 
ants Stokie and Garland— British. 


278 


With British and Braves 


As soon as the cruel and cowardly Proctor became 
aware of their approach, he hastily abandoned Fort 
Malden, and fled towards Chatham on the - river 
Thames, and in all probability would not even have 
attempted to resist the victorious march of the Ameri- 
cans, had it not been for the brave Tecumseh. His- 
tory has handed down to us Tecumseh’s address to 
Proctor, as he perceived the latter’s cowardly prepa- 
ration for flight. Proctor knew of Barclay’s defeat; 
but, for fear of the effect it would have upon his In- 
dian allies, he had concealed the results of that conflict 
from them. Even Tecumseh himself was kept in ig- 
norance. 

As Proctor was about to give orders for retreat, 
Tecumseh thus addressed him: “Father, listen. Our 
fleet has gone. We have heard their guns. We know 
they have fought; we know nothing more. Why is 
our father preparing to run away without telling his 
red children where or why he is going? You told us 
we could remain here; that these lands should be ours. 
You told us that you would never flee on British soil. 
Why, then, do you fly? No enemy is in sight. Your 
red children will say you are like a fat dog that proudly 
curls his tail over his back, but when he sees danger 
he becomes frightened, and drops it between his legs 
and runs away. Father, listen. We have not been 
beaten by land, perhaps not by water. Your red chil- 
dren wish to remain, and fight the enemy when and 
wherever they appear. We have the guns that the 
great father, the king across the water, has sent us. 
Give us the arms and ammunition that you have, and 
you may go. Our lives are in the hands of the Great 


War of 1812 


279 


Spirit. We will defend our lands and our homes. If 
it be the wish of the Great Spirit, we will leave our 
bones upon the fields and in the forest; but we will not 
fly before the enemy is in sight.” 

This speech, delivered to Proctor before a great 
council of Indians, aroused their enthusiasm in the 
highest degree, and Proctor wavered in his designs; 
for Tecumseh was a born commander, far more skill- 
ful and incomparably braver than Proctor. And not- 
withstanding Tecumseh was an Indian and a savage, 
he had great influence over Proctor, who not only 
admired, but feared him. 

After Tecumseh’s speech, Proctor told him and 
his Indian allies that they would only retreat a short 
distance down the river, draw the Americans after 
them, and then crush them in some spot where escape 
would be impossible. 

About the ist of October, Harrison landed at Fort 
Malden, found the place deserted, sent a small detach- 
ment to retake Detroit (which was abandoned by the 
British without a struggle), and, then, with the main 
body of his men, pushed on up the river Thames. On 
the 5th he came upon the British at a place about sixty 
miles from Detroit, and on the banks of that river there 
was fought what is known in history as the Battle of 
the Thames. This battle was short, but decisive. 
Early in the day Proctor fled from the scene. He 
seemed to be inspired with a fear that the Americans 
would avenge the bloody cruelties of the river Raisin. 
And, besides, it is said that the night before the battle, 
Tecumseh and Proctor had a stormy interview; that 
Tecumseh felt that Proctor was cowardly, and would 


28 o 


With British and Braves 


not make a brave and heroic stand; and that in this 
interview Tecumseh plainly told Proctor that if he 
saw any evidences of cowardice upon Proctor’s part 
that he and his Indian allies would kill him (Proctor) 
before he could escape by flight. 

Just before the Americans started upon this cam- 
paign, Harrison addressed his men in a speech th^t 
was worthy of the man and the occasion : 

“My brave Kentuckians, remember in battle the 
river Raisin; but forget it after you have won the 
victory.” 

The flight of Proctor did not, however, cause Te- 
cumseh to follow his example. Again and again this 
brave Indian chief rallied his forces, until at length 
he was slain in the thickest of the fray. Thus fell the 
greatest chief of his times. 

Ask the ordinary reader of history who were the 
greatest military leaders of the world, and they will 
probably answer, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon; 
but all these fought against inferiors. Even Napoleon 
achieved his greatest victories when the young Re- 
public of France had given to her soldiers a personnel — 
an enthusiasm that made the effete armies to which 
they were opposed an inferior foe. If we judge, not by 
success alone, but take into view all the surroundings, 
we will place high up on the monument that history 
has erected to military fame the names of King Philip 
and Tecumseh. But Tecumseh was more than a war- 
rior. He fought with the true courage of real patriot- 
ism, of love for his country and his countrymen. In 
his thoughts, ideas, and principles he was very far in 
advance of his savage brethren. While he scalped 



Tecumseh 



t 


\ 


■ ■■ 



4 



War of 1812 


281 


(as the Great Spirit had taught him) an enemy slain in 
battle, he put to shame Proctor by his treatment of 
prisoners. Many an American captive owed his life 
to the protecting influence of this great chief, this 
noble red man of the forest. 

But I must now return to my story. Ruth, Hettie- 
belle, and the parents of both Charlotte and Henry 
were, after Henry’s departure, filled with the liveliest 
apprehensions of fear and the most gloomy forebod- 
ings as to the fate, not only of Charlotte and Dins- 
more, but also of Henry. They all had the greatest 
confidence in Henry’s skill and prudence; but they 
realized that he would shun no danger, and would be 
ready and willing at any moment to risk his life if he 
thought by so doing he might rescue the two pris- 
oners. 

The day following Henry’s departure in pursuit 
of the Indians, John and Charles Wright, together 
with several of the neighbors, went to Sandusky Bay, 
but at that place were unable to learn anything what- 
ever in regard to Henry or the Indians. On the 9th 
of September the two Wrights returned to their homes, 
and reported that they had been unable to find any 
trace of the Indians, their captives, or Henry. It is 
difficult to describe, but easy to imagine, the terrible 
feelings of suspense and anxiety that filled the hearts 
of Ruth, Hettiebelle, and the parents of Charlotte and 
Henry. 

It was noon on the loth of September. Mr. and 
Mrs. Charles Wright were taking dinner at John 
Wright’s. They were seated at the table, speaking 
of the absent ones exposed to danger, when suddenly 


282 


With British and Braves 


the distant booming of cannon reverberated over the 
water. All sprang from the table, went out, and list- 
ened. Again the cannon was distinctly heard in the 
direction of Put-in-Bay. There could be no mistake; 
it was '‘the battle’s opening roar.” During the long 
three hours and a half of that terrible cannonading 
they listened, filled with indescribable feelings, in 
which doubt and fear were mingled with hope and 
confidence. At length the sound of the cannon sud- 
denly ceased. Were the Americans victorious, or 
had they been defeated? Were Henry, Charlotte, and 
Johnson safe, or were they dead or in the hands of 
their savage captors? Were the lakes now in con- 
trol of the Americans, or were the British still victors? 
Were the red wolves of the forest to be turned loose 
upon all the settlements, and the lurid fires of death, 
destruction, and torture soon again to light the fields 
and forests along the shores of Lake Erie, or did the 
triumphant and protecting flag of America float above 
Perry’s fleet? Night passed, a night filled with in- 
describable anxiety, a night that seemed an age. As 
soon as morning dawned upon this long, sleepless 
night, the two Wrights, Mrs. Charles Wright, Ruth, 
Hettiebelle, and several of the male members of the 
settlement, started with teams for Sandusky Bay. 
There they soon learned the joyful news of Perry’s 
great victory; but could learn nothing of the Indians, 
their prisoners, or of Henry. 

It was at once decided that Charlotte’s father and 
mother, with Ruth and Hettiebelle, should take one 
of the many sailboats that were then plying between 
Sandusky Bay and Put-in-Bay, and go to the latter 


War of 1812 


283 


place, and learn all the particulars possible. The 
journey from Sandusky to Put-in-Bay seemed never- 
ending; but at length, slowly borne forward by the 
light breeze, they reached that harbor which the 
events of the past few days had made forever famous. 
I need not describe, for it is easy to conceive of the 
joy, happiness, and gratitude that filled the hearts of 
all at that reunion upon the shores of Put-in-Bay. In 
their excitement and pleasure, Henry’s wounds were 
almost forgotten. 

While Hastings was an officer in the British army 
and in British uniform, he was not considered a pris- 
oner of war, for he had been wounded, not in a con- 
test against the Americans, but in heroically, nobly, 
trying to save the life of Captain Dinsmore, an Ameri- 
can officer. 

With the exception of those who were too badly 
wounded to be removed, the prisoners taken in the 
battle on Lake Erie were sent to Sandusky Bay, and 
thence to Urbana. Hastings, Henry, and a number 
of the more badly wounded Americans, remained upon 
the island, in preference to being cared for on ship- 
board. Mr. Wright very soon returned home, while 
Charlotte’s mother and the three young women re- 
mained, not only to take care of Hastings and Henry, 
but to assist as far as possible in caring for any other 
sick or wounded soldiers. Some rude barracks, made 
out of rough, wide boards, were erected in the then 
dense woods, near where the Put-in-Bay House now 
stands. Three days after the arrival of the Wrights 
and Hettiebelle upon the island, the soldiers of Harri- 
son’s army began to assemble there in great numbers. 


284 


With British and Braves 


and Mrs. Wright and the three young ladies were 
joined by the wives of a few of the officers, a rude 
board house having been constructed for the special 
occupation of the ladies. 

As I have said before, Harrison’s army did not re- 
main long upon the island, and soon proceeded to 
Middle Sister, and from there to Canada. Each day 
the four nurses, including Charlotte and her mother, 
would spend hours beside the wounded sufferers; but 
there were two among them who received more than 
their share of attention from Charlotte and Hettie- 
belle. 

One day Charlotte and Hastings were practically 
alone — that is, no one else was near enough them to 
hear their conversation — when Hastings said, as he 
gazed earnestly into her face: “Miss Wright, I am an 
enemy of your country and your people so long as 
this cruel war lasts ; but I hope you do not now believe, 
as I know you once did, that I am a cruel, heartless 
coward.” 

“I will confess. Lieutenant,” she replied, “that I 
once feared you were an unworthy man, and I am 
very glad that I have learned that I was mistaken. I 
do not believe it now. I believe that you are a brave, 
noble, true-hearted man; and some way in my heart 
I always believed you were good and true; but some- 
times they almost made me think that I was mis- 
taken.” 

Hastings’s countenance clearly showed the pleas- 
ure these words gave him. After a moment’s thought, 
he said: “I presume that your friend Dinsmore made 
you believe that I was a cruel, bad man.” 


War of 1812 


285 


“O no! I never heard him speak of you at all 
until since I have been here upon the island, and then 
he said: ‘I believe I have wronged Hastings in my 
feelings. I believe now that he is not only a brave, 
but a noble and generous foe.’ ” 

“That was very kind of him to speak of me in that 
manner,” said Hastings. 

“How could he do otherwise, and be a man? Did 
you not nobly risk your life to save him from being 
tortured? He would certainly be mean and ungrate- 
ful if he did not feel thankful to you; and so am I, 
for had you not so bravely assisted Henry out of that 
dreadful cave into which he fell, I might still be a cap- 
tive in the hands of the Indians. It makes me tremble 
and shudder when I think of it. And Ruth Wright 
is grateful to you, not only for saving her brother’s 
life, but for saving Captain Dinsmore. For, while 
Ruth loves her brother, I verily believe she would have 
felt as much or more real sorrow, had Dinsmore been 
killed, than if she had lost her brother.” 

Hastings looked at Charlotte inquiringly, and 
asked: “What do you mean by that? Why would Miss 
Ruth Wright have felt so much sorrow if Captain 
Dinsmore had been slain?” 

“Do you not know that Ruth is engaged to Cap- 
tain Dinsmore?” 

“Of course not,” he replied; “I never dreamed of 
such a thing. I thought if he was engaged, it was 
to you.” 

She gave one of her merry laughs, and then check- 
ing herself for fear that others in the barracks might 
overhear her, said: “How queer that you should ever 


286 


With British and Braves 


think of anything so absurd! I am not even well ac- 
quainted with him. I never saw Captain Dinsmore 
but once, until a few days since.” 

Hastings was very greatly surprised; but much 
more pleased. He felt a hope that he before scarcely 
dared entertain. 

“Move your stool a little closer to my cot; I want 
to ask you another question.” 

Charlotte blushed, but complied. He slowly 
reached out his hand, and took Charlotte’s in his. She 
pretended to desire to withdraw it; but did not. He 
looked anxiously into her face, and then said: “Char- 
lotte, do you believe that you could ever love a Ca- 
nadian?” 

“I do not know but I could, if he was extra good 
and nice.” 

Her words did not imply very much; but her ex- 
pression did, as she looked at him and smiled. Her 
hand was still in his, and he felt it tremble. 

“Charlotte, I love you. If I have done anything 
that was brave and praiseworthy, it was my love for 
you that prompted and stimulated me. If Captain 
Dinsmore only knew the truth, he would be more 
grateful to you than to me. It was my love for you 
that gave me courage.” 

“But,” she said, partially interrupting him, “you 
have just told me that you thought Dinsmore was 
my intended.” 

“I did,” he answered; “but I loved you so strongly 
and truly that 1 was willing to risk my life if it would 
make you happy.” 

“You are truly a worthy and noble man,” she said. 


War of 1812 


287 


and she leaned forward and looked at him so sweetly, 
so affectionately, that his heart throbbed with pleasure 
and hope. 

‘‘Charlotte,” he continued, “our countries will not 
always be at war; peace and friendship will come some 
time, and then you will not be ashamed to love a Ca- 
nadian. Will you, can you, return my love, and prom- 
ise to be mine when this cruel war is ended?” 

She did not reply for a moment. She withdrew 
her hand from his. He saw plainly that conflicting 
emotions were at work in her heart. He impulsively 
thought that he knew the cause of her embarrass- 
ment; but he did not. 

He spoke quickly, while a look of pain and dis- 
appointment clothed his features: “Charlotte, I see 
that my intense love has placed you in a cruel po- 
sition. I see that you feel as if you could not pledge 
your love to an enemy of your country; but you feel 
so grateful to me, — much more than you should, for I 
have simply done my duty, — that you feel that you 
can not say no. I see that it is dishonorable for me 
to place you in this position. I did not intend to take 
a mean advantage of your feelings. My love simply 
made me thoughtless. You need not answer my ques- 
tion. Only promise me that when you think of me, 
as I hope you sometimes will, you will believe me 
to be an honorable man.” 

“Frank,” she said — that name had never sounded 
so good to him before in his life — “you have misin- 
terpreted my hesitation and my feelings. I will be 
sincere and honest with you. There is no one in all 
this world whom I so truly love as I do you ; but there 


288 


With British and Braves 


are reasons why I can not promise to-day to be yours. 
Can you trust me? If you can, give me three days’ 
time in which to answer your question.” 

'‘I can trust you for any length of time,” he re- 
plied. “So long as I know that you love me I shall 
have hope; but the next three days will be long ones 
to me.” 

“Perhaps I can answer you sooner; but at any rate 
believe me, I do not hesitate because you are a Ca- 
nadian and my country’s enemy, or because my heart 
does not in full and complete measure return your 
love. I can not now say more. I must go; good-bye.” 

You have all more than half guessed the cause of 
Charlotte’s painful embarrassment, and the reason of 
her hesitation. In her heart there was no hesitation 
between Henry and Hastings, and while she admired 
Henry for his true, manly character, and she believed 
he loved her, and more, in her candid, honest nature 
(in which there was not the slightest element of a 
coquette) she felt that she had deceived Henry by 
encouraging his attentions. Besides, she felt how 
brave and faithful he had been; how he had not only 
risked, but nearly lost his life, in order to rescue her 
from the savages. Then she thought of all the pleas- 
ant, happy hours from childhood’s earliest dawn they 
had spent together, of the many attentions and acts 
of kindness which he had so often and so continually 
shown her; she thought of her parents, of her uncle’s 
and aunt’s displeasure; the criticisms of her friends 
and acquaintances when they should learn that she 
had given her heart to a Canadian enemy in preference 
to Henry Wright, who she knew was respected and 


War of 1812 


289 


admired by all his acquaintances. But, more, she 
felt that Henry, who had done so much for her, and 
to whom she felt so truly grateful, would deem her 
fickle, false, and ungrateful. Her reason told her to 
reject Hastings: her heart told her to accept him. 

The evening after the conversation which I have 
detailed, she had been seated ‘upon a bench not far 
from the building occupied by the ladies. She had 
been intently thinking of all these things, and the more 
she thought, the more bewildered she became, and 
she began to sob as though her heart would break. 
Either alternative seemed dreadful. “O dear! O 
dear! What shall I do?” she said to herself, in an al- 
most audible tone. ‘T could not be more miserable 
or unhappy if I were in the hands of the savages.” 
At length she looked up. The lights in most of the 
tents and barracks were extinguished. She could hear 
the quiet, measured tread of the sentinels pacing 
around the camp, and she suddenly realized that she 
had been thinking for a long time, in the vain endeavor 
to solve the problem before her — the greatest problem 
that life gives to manhood and womanhood; a prob- 
lem which in all ages has held wisdom and prudence 
in contempt. She arose and proceeded to the ladies’ 
quarters. She walked slowly and almost silently, still 
communing with her thoughts. She had almost 
reached the entrance, when she heard a man and a 
woman’s voice each say, “Good-night.” Johnson 
(who was not attached to the army, but simply remain- 
ing at Put-in-Bay) and Ruth had been spending the 
evening happy in each other’s society. Time had, to 
them, passed with unreasonable speed, and they were 
19 


290 


With British and Braves 


just parting for the night. “Cruel fate,” thought Char- 
lotte; “Ruth loves, and is happy; I love, and am 
miserable.” Dinsmore passed on, and Ruth entered 
the building soon afterward, followed by Charlotte. 
Upon Charlotte’s appearance, Ruth was greatly sur- 
prised, and her surprise was increased when she ob- 
served that Charlotte had been weeping. Charlotte 
\vas of a happy, cheerful disposition, and to see evi- 
dences of unmistakable grief on her countenance, not 
only surprised, but pained her cousin Ruth. Char- 
lotte’s mother also noticed this look of pain, and said: 
“Why, Charlotte, what is the matter? What have you 
been crying about?” 

“O, nothing much. I have been sitting out under 
the trees thinking, and for some reason my thoughts 
made me feel sad; but it is a matter of no impor- 
tance.” 

The next morning both mother and cousin noticed 
that Charlotte looked sad and weary, and Ruth felt 
that Charlotte had passed a sleepless night. Shortly 
after breakfast Ruth said: “This is a beautiful day; 
let us take a stroll in the woods.” Charlotte consented. 
They walked some distance from the camp, and sat 
down beneath the shade of a tree. After a few mo- 
ments’ conversation, Ruth said: “Charlotte, my dear, 
something is troubling you. Your mother and I have 
both noticed it. You have some secret sorrow of the 
heart. Tell me what it is. You know we have never 
kept any secrets from each other.” 

Ruth and Charlotte were not only cousins, but 
they had been friends and playmates from the time 
they lisped their first words of infant prattle. While 


War of 1812 


291 


they were alike in sweetness, gentleness, and womanly 
purity, and all that goes to make up ideal womanhood, 
Ruth’s character was of a firmer and more self-reliant 
cast, and Charlotte had always leaned upon and been 
largely influenced by her. In the past they had kept 
no secrets from each other; but when a woman’s heart 
is full of love, there is no room for a confidant. The 
secret is so sweet, so precious, that she wishes to en- 
joy it alone; and, besides, Ruth was Henry’s sister. 

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, and then re- 
plied: “You are exaggerating my troubles. I am 
sorry, but I can not tell you what causes my present 
mood.” 

“O, Charlotte, do not say that! You have not lost 
confidence and faith in me, have you? Have we not 
been like sisters all our lives? It makes me feel sad, 
not only to see you so sad, but to think that you seem 
to have lost confidence in me.” 

Charlotte did not answer. She thought to herself, 
“Ruth will lose confidence in me, if she learns that I 
love Hastings more than her brother,” and this 
thought increased her sorrow, and she began to sob 
and cry in spite of her desire not to reveal her feel- 
ings. Ruth put her arms around her, kissed her ten- 
derly, and said: “Charlotte, dear tell me of your 
troubles. I will keep your secret as a sacred trust. 
It will do you good to tell me, and perhaps I can 
help you.” 

For some moments there was no answer. At 
length Charlotte said: “What would you think if I 
should tell you that Lieutenant Hastings told me yes- 
terday that he loved me?” 


292 


With British and Braves 


“I do not see anything in that to make you feel 
so bad, if that is all. You are the first girl that I ever 
knew whom it made sad to have a worthy young man 
like Hastings declare his love.” 

“But,” said Charlotte, “you know how bravely and 
heroically he risked his life to save Captain Dins- 
more; and, besides, if it had not been for him Henry 
would not now be alive, and I would be an Indian 
captive.” 

“Of course,” answered Ruth; “I know all these 
things, and more. I believe it is a heroic, noble act 
for any one to be willing to risk his life to save the 
life of a friend; but it is incomparably more noble and 
heroic to risk one’s life to save an enemy. I believe 
Hastings to be a most worthy man.” 

“Still,” said Charlotte, “he is a Canadian, and one 
of the enemies of our country.” 

“I do not care if he is. That does not change his 
character. And, besides, America and Canada will not 
always be at war.” 

Charlotte felt wonderfully and surprisingly encour- 
aged by Ruth’s remarks, and she said, “But suppose 
I were to tell you that I love him?” 

“If you should,” said Ruth, “you would not be 
telling me any news, for I have been convinced of that 
fact for some time; nor do I wonder at your loving 
him, for he is worthy of any woman’s love.” 

“But,” replied Charlotte, and she hesitated again 
for a moment, and then proceeded, “while he has 
never told me so, I sometimes fear that Henry loves 
me, and he is so good, so brave, and generous. He, 


War of 1812 


293 


too, risked his life to save Captain Dismore and me. 
O! what if I should cause him pain? What if he 
should think me false and heartless? That is what, 
more than all else, pains me.” 

‘T have thought,” answered Ruth, “of all this be- 
fore. I have long been convinced, not only that you love 
Hastings, but that Hettiebelle loves Henry, and I have 
often wished that Henry loved her; for, to tell you the 
truth, Charlotte, I do not, nor does my mother, or your 
mother, think it right and best for cousins to marry 
each other. I have noticed that you have spent much 
more time in taking care of and attending Hastings 
than Henry, and I have also observed that Hettiebelle 
has spent very much more time with Henry than you 
have; and while it is true that he does not know that 
you are in love with Hastings, — nor do I want him 
to have any knowledge of that fact for some days to 
come, for that might arouse in his heart a feeling 
of jealousy, and not only give him pain, but stimulate 
his desire to win your love, for such is sometimes the 
effect of jealousy, — but Henry has noticed that Hettie- 
belle has been much more attentive to his wants, done 
much more in endeavoring to alleviate his sufferings, 
than you have. At first your absence troubled him; 
but as she has sat by his side, doing all in her power 
to make him easy and comfortable (while you have 
been doing the same for Hastings), and has looked 
at him so often with those great, tender, loving, lus- 
trous, brown eyes of hers, he has begun to forget your 
absence, and I have begun to feel that Henry is far 
from being indifferent to Hettiebelle.” 


294 


With British and Braves 


At any other time this statement would have cre- 
ated a pang of jealousy in Charlotte’s heart; but at 
this moment it pleased her. 

“But,” said Charlotte, “what would my mother 
think?” 

“She would not blame you at all. Let us go and 
talk this matter over with her.” 

“Yes, we will,” said Charlotte. 

Let us leave Ruth and Charlotte for a moment, 
and turn our attention to Henry. 

On the very day that Charlotte and Hastings held 
the conversation, which I have detailed, Henry fell 
asleep while Hettiebelle sat near him. As he awoke, 
he looked up at her, and she was looking at him so 
sweetly and tenderly, that something said to him all 
at once that he was beloved by the sweet girl before 
him, and he felt happy. 

That night he thought of Charlotte and Hettie- 
belle, and for . the first time he fully realized that his 
thoughts of Hettiebelle were by far the sweeter; but 
with this thought came a sense of shame and dis- 
honor — for Henry was the soul of honor, and he felt 
that for him to allow another to supplant Charlotte 
in the affections of his heart was dishonor — and that 
he was both false and fickle. He could not sleep. He 
would sometimes strive to still his conscience, by say- 
ing to himself: “I do not believe that Charlotte really 
loves me; she has a sort of cousinly affection and 
friendship for me, and that is all;” and then he would 
think of the past, and his conscience would again 
accuse him of being false and faithless. 

The next morning Hettiebelle did not visit him. 


War of 1812 


295 


and he felt her absence more than ever before, and 
this only increased the agitation of his feelings, and 
it seemed as though he could not lie in his cot any 
longer. As the surgeon entered the room where he 
lay, he said to him: “Doctor, it seems to me that it 
would do me good if I could only step out of doors.” 

“If you will be careful,” replied the doctor, “and 
move very slowly with the aid of a crutch, I do not 
believe it will injure you.” 

Soon afterward, with the aid of Dinsmore and his 
crutch, Henry stepped out into the open air for the 
first time since he received his wounds. He sat down 
upon a bench near by. The cool, invigorating lake- 
breeze fanned and cooled his face, but could not quiet 
his feelings. He had not been seated long, when, turn- 
ing to Johnson, he said: “If you will assist me, I 
think I can go and see Lieutenant Hastings. I have 
not seen him since he so nobly and heroically saved 
both of our lives, and I wish to see how the brave, 
generous fellow is getting along, and also to express 
to him my sincere gratitude.” Henry had learned be- 
fore this of all the facts in regard to Hastings, which 
I have related, except his and Charlotte’s mutual love 
for each other, and the conversation which took place 
between them the day previous. 

Henry, with Johnson’s assistance, proceeded slowly 
towards the building in which lay Lieutenant Hast- 
ings. As Henry entered, Hastings greeted him most 
cordially, and, extending his hand, said: “I am very 
glad to see you, and very much pleased to see you 
are improving so fast.” 

“I can assure you,” replied Henry, “that I am very 


296 


With British and Braves 


glad to see you, and I hope that you, too, are improv- 
ing. To-day is the first time I have been out of 
doors, and I took this my first opportunity to come 
and see you, and express to you my great gratitude 
for your generous, noble, and heroic conduct in not 
only saving my life, but in risking your own to save 
the life of those who had treated you so unjustly. As 
soldiers, we are enemies; but as men, let us be friends.” 

“With all my heart,” replied Hastings, “and I think 
I owe you as great a debt of gratitude as you do me. 
It was through the kindness of your sister, with your 
generous assistance, that my only brother was pre- 
vented from being a cripple for life; and, besides, you 
saved my life as well as I did yours.” 

During this interview, Ruth, Charlotte, and Mrs. 
Wright entered unnoticed. Ruth and Charlotte had 
just met Charlotte’s mother, when she noticed Henry 
going slowly towards Hastings’s quarters, and she 
said: “I think that Henry is very imprudent and in- 
judicious to go over there, even if it is not far. The 
surgeon would be very much displeased. I am going 
over, and will tell Henry that he must not exercise so 
much the first time he has been out of doors.” 

As Henry finished speaking, he turned partially 
around, and before seeing the others observed Char- 
lotte looking at Hastings so admiringly, tenderly, and 
lovingly, that in a moment the truth flashed upon him, 
and he called to almost instant recollection Hastings’s 
and Charlotte’s greeting at the time of the hunt, their 
interview in the woods during her captivity by the 
Indians, and many other things which had not before 
come to his mind, and, above all, the fact that Char- 


War of 1812 


297 


lotte had been nursing and caring for some one else 
during his sickness, and her stay upon the island, and 
he felt convinced that it was Hastings who had occu- 
pied her time and attention. The feeling that Char- 
lotte loved Hastings rather than himself came upon 
him suddenly, but with convincing force, and for a 
moment he was somewhat agitated by this discovery. 
Hastings noticed his agitation, but had not the slight- 
est conception of its cause, and at first he thought 
Henry had overexerted himself by walking too far, 
and he quickly said: 'T fear, Mr. Wright, that in your 
generous desire to see me and express your feelings 
you have exerted yourself too much. I shall be very 
sorry to have you leave so soon; but I fear that if 
you do not return to your cot you will have a relapse, 
and you will be much worse to-morrow.” 

Henry did not at once reply. Ruth had observed 
Henry as he looked at Charlotte, whose eyes were 
upon Hastings, and she more than half guessed the 
cause of Henry’s feelings. There was for a few mo- 
ments an awkward silence, which was at length broken 
by Henry, who had risen slowly to his feet. Leaning 
upon his crutch, with well-feigned anger, he turned to 
Lieutenant Hastings, and said: “You are mistaken, 
sir, as to the cause of my actions and feelings. Un- 
less I greatly err, I have just made a most important 
discovery. It is true. Lieutenant Hastings, that you 
saved my life; but for what purpose? To rob me of 
that which is dearer than life? Have you not, sir, 
while accepting the hospitalities of our camp, not as a 
prisoner, but as a guest, wickedly and maliciously 
stolen from me the girl I loved?” 


298 


With British and Braves 


Every one was amazed at this outbreak of apparent 
anger and passion; but none more so than Hastings. 
But before Hastings could frame a reply, Henry 
changed his manner, and said: “But, to my mind, this 
is but another proof of your courage and daring. You 
have gone right into the enemy’s camp — not of war, 
but of love — and stolen Charlotte’s heart; but I will 
show you that I can be as brave and generous as you 
have been. I have in the past fondly hoped that Char- 
lotte loved me. I now see that she loves another;” 
and, turning to Charlotte, he said: “Charlotte, I be- 
lieve Lieutenant Hastings not only loves you, but that 
he has told you of his love. If so, and you love him, 
let your heart speak from this time on. Call me 
cousin, brother, what you will; but let no thought of 
me stand between you and his love. I believe he is 
worthy of your love. I have no rightful claim to your 
love, and if I had, I renounce all to Lieutenant Hast- 
ings. Charlotte, it is for you to speak.” 

Charlotte’s agitation and embarrassment was so 
great that, for a few moments, she could not speak. 
Hastings now knew, for the first time, the cause of 
Charlotte’s conduct the day before, and he awaited 
her reply with such anxiety that moments seemed to 
him hours. At length she said : “Henry, Lieutenant 
Hastings has told me of his love, and I love him ; but 
I have not heretofore answered him for fear that you, 
to whom I owe so much, should deem me false, 
faithless, and fickle; but now, Frank, you have my 
answer; it is, with my mother’s consent, ‘Yes.’ ” 

The tension of the excitement under which Henry 


War of 1812 


299 


had been laboring had given him a boldness that was 
not less astonishing to him than to his friends. 

Hastings noticed this excitement, and, after a 
moment’s pause, said : “Mr. Wright, you are a noble, 
generous man. I am happy, happy in the love of a 
true woman; but my happiness is saddened by the 
fear that, through my great love for Charlotte, I have 
taken a dishonorable advantage of your feelings of 
gratitude towards me.” 

“O no,” answered Henry. “I am not so gener- 
ous as I may appear to be. This is not only a time 
of war, but of capture. You have captured my 
cousin’s heart. Captain Dinsmore has taken my sister, 
and I alone am unsuccessful; but I have some hope 
that I will get more than even by winning the best 
prize of all.” 

Hastings and Charlotte did not fully comprehend 
the import of his words. The others thought they 
did. But all looked pleased, two felt happy, and Ruth 
said, “Sometimes, in love as well as in war, men fail 
for lack of courage.” 

Soon after Henry’s declaration, all except Hast- 
ings withdrew, leaving him, for the time being, alone. 
But during that afternoon,* with the consent of her 
mother, Charlotte again visited him. It is not neces- 
sary to detail the conversation that took place be- 
tween them, but when they parted both were happy, 
very happy. She was happy in the thought that she 
was beloved by one so truly brave and worthy ; and he 
was happy, supremely happy, in the thought that he 
possessed the undivided love of one true, fond heart. 
The only real joy, the only true happiness in this 


300 


With British and Braves 


worlds or in the world to come, is found in pure love. 
Heaven has no other or greater joy. 

Nor need I tell the conversation which took place, 
a few days later, between Henry and Hettiebelle ; but 
shortly afterwards Ruth said to Hettiebelle : “I never 
saw your cheeks look so red nor your eyes so bright 
and happy as they do to-night. I think,” said Ruth, 
smiling, “that courage has won to-day in love if not 
in war.” 

“O, I do not know,” said Hettiebelle. “I some- 
times think that I am like General Hull.” 

“How is that?” asked Ruth. 

“He surrendered as soon as he was asked, and so 
did I.” 

While the war lasted for another year, or until 
near the close of the year 1814, Perry’s victory was 
the decisive conflict in the Northwest, and, after our 
complete success on the banks of the river Thames, 
resulting in Tecumseh’s death, there was little further 
fighting in the Northwest either with British or In- 
dians; and with the close of the war I must close 
my story. But before doing so, I ought, perhaps, to 
add a word in reference to some of the persons con- 
nected with it; for, as history is silent, unless I speak, 
all further knowledge of them may remain forever 
unknown. 

Jenks, after being captured, was placed on board 
one of the boats plying between Put-in-Bay and San- 
dusky for the purpose of taking him to Urbana for 
trial upon the charge of desertion. But while some 
distance out in Sandusky Bay, he suddenly sprang 
overboard, evidently with the hope of secreting him- 


War of 1812 


301 


self in the tall rushes that then grew there; but not- 
withstanding the fact that he was an expert swimmer, 
in some manner he became entangled in these rushes, 
and was drowned. 

« Miss Mixture, just at the close of the war, ran 

away with an officer who was as false as herself, and 
who soon afterwards cruelly deserted her. 

On the loth day of September, 1815, nearly a year 
after the close of the war, an event took place which 
was in striking contrast with the terrible events of the 
two years previous. At this time there were assembled 
upon the island Henry and Ruth and their parents, 
Charlotte and her parents, Johnson and Hettiebelle 
and their parents, Frank Hastings, his parents, and 
brother, Matthew Hentzler and his mother, a worthy 
pastor, and, besides, a few friends; and there in the 
forest shades, on the beautiful shores of that quiet har- 
bor, three couples were made husband and wife. War, 
strife, and hatred had ceased; but love had grown and 
increased until it reached its blessed consummation; 
and thus it happened that Ohio and Kentucky became 
sisters, and the Canadians our cousins; and, as our 
German friends would say, “Das ist Alles; gute Nacht, 
leben sie wohl.” 



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